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peachesofteal · 2 months

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John Price/female reader The Ocean Anthology

You're not overly familiar with wolves.

On the zoology side, you preferred marine animals. As a child, you preferred the aquarium to the zoo, the beach to the park, water instead of land. Something about the sea, floating weightless beneath a tide, modeling your own movements after tail fins and flippers, salt water drying on your skin at the surface.

The wild of the open ocean, unending depths, reaching where light could not touch, soothed something in your heart. It always had.

Which is why, when you looked out your kitchen window into the duplex's shared backyard and saw Aly, seated with criss crossed legs, ten meters from the largest wolf you've ever seen in your life, you screamed.

It was the surprise, twisting your vocal chords into a strangled cry, the shock and fear echoing past the frame of the house and into the gnarled slope, that had Aly turning back to peer at you, had the wolf lowering it's head in what you could only assume was a predatory lean.

"Aly." Your voice trembled when you made it onto the back deck, a hand outstretched, beckoning her back to safety. The wolf inches away, shying from your panic, the scent of your fear souring the breeze. It's stale, and sharp, and your heart thunders in your ears, rapid beat wild in your veins.

She did not even spare you a glance.

"It's okay." She calls over her shoulder. "She'd never hurt me." She? You look around. Where is John?

"Aly. Come inside." Your force yourself steady, pushing authority, what little of it you possess, into the syllables.

And then, a softer plea, from someone who doesn't understand. "Please." The wolf, massive and grey with tinges of orange and brown, watches you, golden, glinting eyes, upper lip curled, revealing devastatingly sharp teeth. It steps away, up into the cover of the trees, drifting into the darkness of the forest, glow of it's face in the morning rays just barely visible.

The little girl sighs, unfolding herself and brushing dirty palms against her coat.

"You scared her." Fogged breath rolls from her mouth, and all you can do is stare, incredulous, as she rolls her eyes and traipses over to her back door, giving you a skeptical look before stepping inside.

What the fuck was that?

You find yourself on a twisted forest path later that night. Unable to sleep, you walk towards the harbor, cutting through a side trail you've seen John on in the mornings, and others, occasionally.

It's just a side trail. Close to the road. You'll be fine.

The woman's warning from your first night at the bar vibrates in your bones.

Skip the shortcuts through the forest at night.

Warnings, pleas, instructions from John, all laid to waste in your trek, bundled up in your warmest jacket, gloves and hat. Your jeans stick to your thighs, cold prickling between the friction, headlamp illuminating the way, red light casting shadow into the forest, a thick fog settled in around the way.

You're not walking long, when you hear the first snap. You whirl, light pointed in the direction of the noise, to find nothing but silent woods, branches hanging low with the weight of icy winter.

Something cracks at your back. Something sharp, splintering through the fog's silence.

Your shoulder's raise. Your lungs go still.

Fear wraps around your throat, and chokes.

Don't look. Don't look.

John's voice echoes in your memory, severe blue gaze and downturned lips, opposite you at the table.

"Run."

You turn on your heel, digging into the dirt, and sprint. Around you, brush crashes. Branches and twigs break. There's a glimpse of paws, long strides eating the distance between yourself and your pursuer, panic bubbling up in your chest as you push yourself to the brink.

Faster.

To your left, a streak of white. Large, and graceful, taking downed logs and large branches with ease, cutting closer and closer, your movements growing clumsy each second.

The road, the house, are eons away. They might as well be on the other side of the earth, sanctuary vanishing before your very eyes.

From your left, from your right, breathing grows louder. Growls and yips and a howl bounce off the density of the darkness, heading you off.

Hunting you.

You can feel them. Wild, untamed lupine prowess stalks closer. Playing with their prey before they close you off from the end of the path completely. You're a child again, running into bed after flicking off the lights, terrified of what lurks beneath your bed. Sprinting up the basement stairs, hoping you'll be safe as soon as you touch the door handle and burst into the light.

Your tears come, sob ripping through your chest, a bleat of terror sounding off like a gunshot. You stay focused on the dark frame that's just in view, trying to outrun the snarling brutality chasing you.

When you find the road, you don't stop. You push yourself harder, faster, until the house is in sight, exhaustion turning your feet into concrete blocks, sending you pitching forward-

into a thick, warm, chest.

"What are you-" hands grip your upper arms, holding you steady, holding you close. An embrace of cedar and cigar, wilderness and ocean wrapping you up.

John.

"I- There- I saw-" You can't get it out. Tongue as clumsy as your limbs, you go limp and tremble.

The forest behind you is dead silent. Still.

"Shhh now." He murmurs, hand cupping the back of your head. It's large, nearly the size of your skull, and you press your nose to his jacket, gasping. "It's alright. You're alright."

"W-wolves." You bite, and his muscles go tense, neck rigid. You can feel torsion, the survey of the land behind you.

You brace for the scolding you know you've earned. The admonishment you deserve. "I'm sorry, I c-couldn't sleep, and thought I'd just... I'd walk. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, love. They're gone. You're safe." Love. The word suggests familiarity, affection, and you blink. He's gentle, still holding you close, grip firm and tense. You should pull away, salvage your dignity, your sanity.

You're a scientist. Not a child. What kind of display is this?

It all falls away, his thumb stroking a slow circle behind your ear. "Let's get you inside, hm?" You nod, still unsteady, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, tucking you close. Adrenaline keeps you in unsteady limbo, hands shaking so badly you're forced to press them against your heart.

He keeps you in his side the entire walk back, murmuring softly, accent lilting on the night's breeze. He helps you with your key when your fingers can't quite get a good grip, pushing your door wide and flicking on the lamp, pale yellow glow comforting in the inky black.

When he sits you down on the couch, you don't protest. He handles you carefully, long touch on your knee, turning with a distant expression, gaze fixed out the window. "Need you to be good and listen to me from now on. Don't want anything happening to ya."

"I know." You croak. You do, now. Before... before, you didn't take any stock in it. Averse to being told what to do, naturally resistant.

Now. Now you see.

"They were so close." you try to explain, avoiding his eyes. "Like they... like they were-"

"Hunting." You look up, big breath trying to fill your lungs, and he gives you a grim smile, palm still cupped over your knee. Something else starts to unfurl in the pit of your stomach, butterflies shaking the terror and spreading their wings, fluttering anxiously against your ribcage. His proximity suffocates you, too warm, too close, and it clouds the space between your bodies, confusion roaring in your mind. He clears his throat.

"Get some sleep." At the door, he turns back one last time, and gives you a nod, expectantly. Like he knows you'll take yourself right upstairs and curl into bed, bury yourself beneath a mountain of blankets. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, John."

#john price #john price x reader #captain john price #the ocean anthology #peaches writes #still trying to shake the rust but it’s not working lmao

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lovelybucky1 · 7 months

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Wait

Kinktober Day 5- Piss Kink

warnings: AFAB!reader, piss kink, bladder denial, wetting, humiliation kink, morning sex, teasing, dirty talk 18+ minors dni

kinktober masterlist

main masterlist

You stirred in bed, having been woken up by the bright morning sun beaming into the bedroom you share with your husband. You lift your head up enough to see the clock on your nightstand, noting you don't have to be out of bed for another thirty minutes.

From behind you, Anakin rolls over to face your back. He must have felt your movement and noticed you had woken up. He wraps his arm around your waist and scoots closer to you, pressing up against your bad.

"Mornin' baby," he mumbles in your ear, voice gravelly with sleep.

"Good morning." You smile to yourself, enjoying the warmth of his bare chest on your back.

The two of you cuddle in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just enjoying each other's company. It isn't until Anakin moves his arm and applies pressure to your stomach that you notice the uncomfortable ache in your bladder.

"Ani, let me up," you say, but he doesn't budge. "Come on."

"Not letting you go," he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

"I have to go to the bathroom," you say, trailing off into giggles when he starts placing delicate kisses on your skin.

"You can wait a few more minutes, can't you?" he asks.

You sigh. You'd do anything for this man. "Just a few minutes," you agree.

A few minutes turns into ten, which quickly becomes fifteen and ends up with Anakin's hand down the front of your pajama pants. He had teased his way under your shirt, then switched directions and trailed his fingers down your stomach and under your waistband.

"Anakin," you whimper. "I have to go to the bathroom."

It's the second time you've said it now, but Anakin still won't let you go. His precise fingers trace your clit teasingly, not showing any signs of stopping.

"Just hold it, baby. Let me do this for you," he says in that sweet voice that makes you agreeable to anything he says.

"Okay," you breathe out.

You lay still and allow Anakin to toy with you as he pleases. He's had so much practice and knows every little touch to drive you crazy, that it doesn't take long until you're squirming, but this time, it isn't just from pleasure.

"What're you movin' around so much for?" he asks, knowing full well what he's doing to you.

"Need to-" you cut yourself off with a moan.

"Need to what, cum? Go ahead, baby, you know you don't need my permission." Anakin smirks against your neck, clearly taking pleasure in teasing you like this.

He never stops rubbing circles on your clit, and despite your desperation, you feel yourself getting closer to the edge.

"Need to pee, Anakin," you manage to whimper out.

"Then let go."

You choke on a moan, shocked at what your husband just said. "Anakin," you gasp.

"We have a washing machine, baby. Come on, make a mess. Squirt all over our bed."

You're so close, riding the edge of your orgasm as Anakin plays with your body. Your bladder aches, and you fear that when you do cum, you'll relax too much. But that's what Anakin wants, isn't it?

"I-I'm cumming," you say.

Your orgasm washes over you, and during the waves of pleasure that wash over you, you feel a hot wetness on the insides of your thighs and soak into your pants. You stop yourself as soon as you regain your composure, but the ache in your bladder is ever present.

"Anakin," you pant. "Please let me go to the bathroom."

Anakin lifts his arm off of you and grabs the covers to pull them back. He reveals the dark wet spot on your pants and a small patch that leaked onto the sheets.

You're technically free to get up but for some reason you remain in bed waiting for his humilation.

"What a naughty little thing. I guess you're gonna have to do laundry today," he says. His tone is serious, but the smirk on his lips tells you he is just teasing you.

"You asshole," you huff as you scamper off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

"If you had to piss, you should've just said something!" Anakin calls, still laying in the soiled bed.

#star wars #anakin #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker smut #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars headcanons

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thebibutterflyao3 · 4 months

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Day 17 - Prompt: Nice @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 712 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Remus chewed the inside of his cheek while he stared at his mobile screen. Lily said Sirius was going to text him for directions when he’d picked up the take-away order. He was trying not to panic about the idea of Sirius in his flat, but it was useless.

The longer he waited, the more he regretted his procrastination in washing the dishes yesterday. His gaze drifted to the kitchen door that hid the stack of rinsed-but-not-scrubbed plates and mugs that were neatly stacked beside the sink. Living alone meant that he didn’t create many dishes, but it also meant that he alone was responsible for washing up.

Generally speaking, he kept the flat nice and tidy. Mostly so that Lily wouldn’t scrunch her nose when she walked inside. It was never as immaculate as hers because Remus wasn’t that motivated.

His phone vibrated in his hand and all he could do was stare at it. “Unknown number” had to be Sirius. After three deep breaths, he swiped past the lock screen.

Unknown Number: Remus?

Remus: Yes, is this Sirius?

Unknown Number: Yep. Lily gave me your number. Where am I bringing your lunch?

Remus quickly typed in his address, then saved Sirius’s number in his phone. He contemplated adding emojis or a nickname like he had for Lily and his parents. The best he could come up with was “Padfoot’s Dad” with a black dog emoji.

Padfoot’s Dad: Oh good, you’re close. See you in ten.

Remus: Alright.

He set the mobile on the side table and grinned to himself, unable to fully believe that he’d managed to get Sirius’s phone number. At least when Sirius went home at the end of the week, Remus could still text him. Maybe he wouldn’t fade into oblivion the moment Sirius left town.

Ten minutes later, a knock echoed through the room. Remus winced as he pushed himself to his feet and padded across the flat. As he opened the door, he smiled at the sight of Sirius in a black leather jacket with two take-away bags in his hand.

“Hey,” he said, matching Remus’s grin.

“Hey.”

Sirius peered over his shoulder curiously. “Mind if I come in?”

“Oh! Yes, come in. Right. Yes,” he spluttered, moving out of the way. “Kitchen is just there.”

“I’m on it! You just get comfortable again and I’ll bring it to you.” Sirius breezed past him and headed straight for the kitchen door.

“Oh no, I can-”

Sirius spun around on his heel and pointed at him. “Remus, sit. I said I’d bring you lunch, I meant it.”

He disappeared into the kitchen before Remus could respond. It felt rather foolish to argue the point with him when he was still in pain. The pain med he’d taken dulled it to a tolerable level, but he couldn’t push himself much or he’d feel even worse tomorrow. That was one lesson he’d learned the hard way.

When Sirius reappeared, he held two plates in one hand and two mugs of tea in the other. “For fuck’s sake, sit!”

Remus rolled his eyes as he shuffled back to his recliner and settled in. The heating pad felt stupidly good on his back now that he’d iced it thoroughly. He arched his back and groaned under his breath as the welcoming warmth seeped into his skin.

Sirius went still in front of him. Remus glanced up, then blinked violently. The man stared in shock with wide blue eyes and his pouty lips parted. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip and Remus bit his own hard. Neither moved, nor spoke, and a tense silence rushed to fill the space between them.

A tension that snapped sharply when Sirius finally shook himself clear and handed Remus the tea. “Here you are. Do you mind if I eat in here with you?”

“No, that’s fine.”

Remus quickly refocused his attention on the plate headed toward his lap rather than the mouth that he desperately wanted to feel on his own. He wasn’t sure what set off that little moment, but he wouldn’t be opposed to it happening again. It almost looked like Sirius wanted to kiss him. Again…actually, but for real this time.

Wishful thinking.

Next Part>>>

#wolfstar #the marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar microfic

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swifty-fox · 27 days

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yo you post your fics on AO3? if so please share your user babe

omg yes I do! you can check my swiftywrites tag but

Masters of the Air:

Kingdom for a Kiss - WIP (34k written, 19k Posted) Long-form Postwar exploration of Clegan's relationship and their trauma. Updates weeky. Mature rating will be bumped to Explicit later

“I wasn’t the one all but begging to be shot by the guards for months on end there Bucky.” Buck shakes his head, laughing sharply. His anger was a living thing now and he aches with it “Nah, nah, not me. No, I was the one dragging your crazy ass back from the brink time and time again. Trying to convince those fucking Germans your sorry carcass was of more use alive than dead, trying to keep the men busy and motivated while you fucked about. You're welcome by the way.” He jabs a finger in John's direction, who stares at him taken aback. “So’s I don’t see much of a reason why I should let you come up into my home and cast your judgments around.”

Bucks chest heaves, great gulps of air like he’s once again racing through snow-covered German trees. He can tell he’s shocked John into silence, the other man's eyes darting back and forth. Buck averts his gaze, brushing his hair back from his face. That’s twice now he’s lost himself at the people he cares about. Twice now he’s bitten a hand reached out in kindness.

Gale takes a deep breath to compose himself, tucks the jagged angry edges of himself back to face inwards. “You said you would write.”

Little Beast: Ongoing. Porn with a bit of Plot modern au of Burnout John and Priest Gale. 9k of them fucking and arguing. p2 is in the drafts and will be part of a series of stories. NSFW to the max

“It’s such a shame you’re cooped up in here like Rapunzel there Buck.” John drawls lazily. He makes a show of looking around “Is Mother Gothel nearby?”

Buck has to fight back against another smile, wouldn't give him the satisfaction or the encouragement “Father Huglin is away at a conference today.”

“All alone without a chaperone.”

press your tired hands against my lips darling: Finished. 3K word re-write of the Bucks final conversation in the cockpit. Loose prequel to KfaK but with some minor inaccuracies Mostly SFW

Gale takes John's hand, brings the scarred knuckles to his mouth and holds it there, turns their hands over til he can place his lips to the pulse point at John’s wrist. It’s not a kiss, there’s no press or pursing of lips, but tender nevertheless, intimate in a way that makes Gale shudder. Cautious of whether John will even allow this.

“I ain’t prayed in a long time,” Gale says whisper-soft. He feels John’s pulse skip a beat, “but I prayed every day you were safe and alive and coming back to me. Every morning, and every night.” He lets himself cry again, tears hidden against the scarred skin of John's hand.

The Old Guard:

in another life maybe you and i would be walking down an aisle in white: Finished Joe/Nicky (18K) Art Professor Joe & Art Conservator Nicky reconnect after ten years. This one is uh. Sad. Mind the tags. It's an incredibly personal piece to me and probably one of my favorites .NSFW

Dear Joe, you have always been the brave one and I wished every moment for even a drop of that. Perhaps that is why I claimed you as mine, out of a desperate need to have even an ounce of what made you, you. I desired you but I would not, could not ever let you in. I loved you and kept you and hurt you, keelhauled you against the impenetrable ship that was my heart and when the ragged pieces were left behind I still asked of you your silence.

It is no wonder our love was left in bloody tatters on that lawn.

Make me a Saint: Finished (8k) Nicky and Nile mete out some justice to a corrupt priest. NSFW for violence. Mind the tags. As of right now, my most popular fic

“ I was a priest before your bible was even written old man ” Nickys voice thunders in the tiny room, crackling over the walls like fire. Even Nile flinches at the sudden volume. He takes another step forwards, bracketing Father Marcus’ arthritic twisted feet with his own.

His voice does not shake.

“I preached the word of God before your language was even invented . I have known the church for longer than you can comprehend. I have seen great men and evil men take up the word of the Lord and I have seen them all rendered dust. I have seen you and I have judged you, Father Marcus. The Church may practice restraint but I do not. The diocese may have turned a blind eye I but I do not. The courts may have found you innocent but I do not .

Calcification of a God: Finished (4K) Nicky has a lil Menty B and then Joe gives him a bath. Mostly SFW if I recall correctly

“I think,” Nicky says “If I were God, it was you I modeled humanity after. I think if I were God I would have left my throne in heaven to walk beside you and I would have been richer for it”

Yusuf chuckles “Death makes you sentimental my darling.”

Wolfstar:

Oh Captain, My Captain!: Finished, 1.6k Drabble of Wolfstar cuddling and reciting poetry. SFW

He cups the back of Remus’s head, presses him further into the safety of his body with a hand on his mismatched, misaligned rib cage and rocks them slightly. Remus grunts slightly. Sirius hides the teeth of his smile against the follow of his own neck and allows the curtain of his hair to cover them both for a moment. He listens to the two of them breath, always slightly out of sync, out of rhythm. Remus quick and labored, Sirius racing to catch up only to find himself charging ahead only to drop back behind when he tries to slow down.

“ If I vibrate with vibrations other than yours, must you conclude that my flesh is insensitive ” That doesn’t fit quite right, so he tries another, brow furrowed and fingers tracing the knobs of Remus’ spine like the knots on a tree, with reverence and a little hint of greed.

#swiftytalks #swiftywrites #my fics #wolfstar #clegan #joe x nicky #the old guard #masters of the air #just thought i would take this chance to compile all the links

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liightsout · 3 months

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the blue - part ten

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✯ summary: danny and mattie talk things through ✯

✯ pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!oc ✯

✯ content warnings: light swearing ✯

✯ now playing: all of the girls you loved before - taylor swift ✯

✯ series masterlist ✯

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Danny’s arms were around Mattie the second she opened her front door. She felt his embrace wash over her like a calming wave. One of his hands immediately went to the back of her head and his long fingers curled delicately around the hair above her neck, the other hand found a home on the small of her back. She felt like he was holding her so carefully, for fear that she would break, but his grip was strong - like he was holding her in place, scared she might disappear.

“Hey pretty girl” she heard Danny whisper into the crook of her neck. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin below her ear. She felt goosebumps appear down her arms as she raised them to wrap around the tops of his shoulders and clasp her hands behind his neck. He smelt like leather and honey; the scent was intoxicating. She mumbled a hello back to him as she felt his face sink further into her; his stubble causing friction against her skin, it felt like electric shocks through her body. The action was so innocent, but felt so intimate.

When they finally pulled apart, Danny refused to break the contact between them, his bigger hand found her smaller one and he wordlessly guided her towards the sofa. Mattie shook her head at him and took charge of the direction. She pulled Danny down the hallway and into her bedroom.

Danny laid down on the bed first, he was grateful that he had opted to wear his comfy clothes home from MTC rather than his team gear. Mattie had left the room for a few minutes and then returned fresh faced and now wearing a pair of soft pyjama shorts and an oversized Mclaren sweatshirt. Danny tried not to lose his mind over the last part. He made a mental note to get her some of his team gear and Enchante pieces. Something primal within him was going crazy at the thought of her in his clothes, wearing his driver number.

Mattie stood for a few seconds and stared at the man who was currently lying in her bed. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do in this situation; it had been a while since she’d found herself with a man in her bed. She could feel her nerves creeping in as she contemplated whether she had made a mistake inviting Danny into her bedroom. She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, but she also hadn’t wanted to spend the rest of her evening awkwardly curled up on the sofa, where Adam could have walked in on them at any moment. She was emotionally exhausted and needed her bed. She knew that Danny needed to rest also.

It was when Danny’s eyes sought out hers and his hands made a grabbing motion at her, hinting for her to come to him, that she shook the doubt from her mind. Danny was looking at her with tired eyes. His hair was fluffy and recently washed and he was in his comfiest clothes, wanting to cuddle with her. All of the worries from earlier in the day felt like they were disappearing just as quickly as they had appeared. She gently climbed down next to him and placed her head on his chest as he placed his arm around her and pulled her close to him.

Danny was the first one to break the silence in the room. He clearly wanted to get some things off of his chest following Mattie’s early exposure to the cruelty of online gossip.

“You know all those things they write is bullshit, right?” he said quietly. He wasn’t mocking her like she thought others might have in the same situation. But then again, Danny had never done anything to make her think he would ever be anything but kind and understanding.

“They just write whatever they want because they think none of us will ever see it. I know it’s hard, but try not to read it or if you do, don’t let it get to you, I know that’s easier said than done, believe me” Danny added with a sigh at the end. She felt that there was more to this than he was letting on.

She knew that Danny was no stranger to online hate. She had seen her fair share of it when he had moved from Red Bull to Renault. People on the internet claimed that they knew what he should be doing with his career better than he did. Some said he had been pushed out because he had asked for too much from Red Bull, and that he was having to settle at Renault because he was “washed”. She knew it was all crap. She had never believed anything they wrote about him then. It would be silly of her to believe any of the things they wrote about him now, or about her.

“I meant all those things I said to you on FaceTime the other day. I probably could have said them a bit better, and at a better time, but I do genuinely really like you Mattie, and I honestly feel like I’m dreaming that you’re even entertaining the thought of dating me” Danny said as his fingertips traced small shapes and patterns down her arm. Mattie’s head raised in a dramatic fashion and looked up at the man she was laying on.

“Are you still dehydrated?” she said as she sent him a teasing glare. A smile appeared on Danny’s face as he laughed and pulled the girl closer to him. She continued, “in all seriousness, I hope you realise that you’re incredible, and not because you drive fast cars for a living. You’re so kind and thoughtful it makes my heart hurt. You have done so much for me in the past few months, more than any man I have ever dated has done for me in my whole life. You make me laugh so hard sometimes I forget what I’m even laughing about. You’re beautiful inside and out, and I consider myself incredibly lucky you think I’m good enough for you.”

Mattie could hear Danny’s heartbeat pounding through his chest - she knew hers was the same. It was the first time she had admitted out loud to him how she felt. She didn’t think it would have as much of an impact on him as it did. For the first time since she’d known him she’d rendered him speechless.

“That’s why it upset me so much earlier,” she explained. “Not necessarily because I thought those things were true, you’ve never given me any reason to doubt you like that. It was more that I was scared that this all seems too good to be true. That you would change your mind or something…” she rambled, “it seems silly now I’m saying it out loud.”

Danny started shaking his head at the girl, “don’t invalidate your own feelings baby. If it made you feel some kind of way, that’s fine, you’re allowed to get upset about stuff. I’m just letting you know that they can write what they want, it doesn’t change my mind in any way whatsoever, I just didn’t want them to change yours.” Mattie could hear the nervousness in his voice, it was something she’d never seen from Danny. “I know that it kinda comes with the territory of dating me, the stupid shit they write online and how intrusive they can be, and I just didn’t want it to scare you away.”

Mattie felt like she could burst into tears at any moment. The man that was lying beneath her had only known her for a short while, and here he was, bearing his heart to her and asking her not to change her mind about him. To not let something he had no control over ruin whatever it was that was going on between them.

“It doesn’t” she said, “and it won’t change my mind. I can’t promise it won’t get to me a little bit sometimes, but I think I like you too much now to let it ruin this”. Mattie felt Danny’s arms pull her even closer to his chest. Her leg had now moved so that it was resting in between his and her hand that wasn’t laying with her head on his chest had now been encased by his, their fingers intertwined.

“Ditto sweetheart,” Danny said to her, echoing the words he had said to her before they parted ways that night before he left for Bahrain.

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✯ authors note: kicking my legs and screaming tbh, wbu?

idk i just have a soft spot for men who can communicate their feelings in a healthy way !!!!

next chap will be another short one and then i'm back to work for a week so updates will slow down a little ✯

#daniel ricciardo #dr3 #danny ric #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo fanfiction #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #dr3 imagine #daniel ricciardo fluff #f1 fic #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 fiction #f1 imagine #dr3 fanfic #f1 smau #f1 #daniel ricciardo smau

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umbry-fic · 1 month

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mairieux

Summary: Colette Brunel, and the decision to live.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Frank Brunel Relationships: Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Frank Brunel Rating: G Word Count: 1990 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 07/04/2024

Notes: A short pre-canon fic. The title is from mairieux by n-buna.

~~~

When Colette was ten, she learned what it meant to fear death.

She had known since she was a child that she was special - chosen to carry the hopes and wishes of the people of Sylvarant, fated to one day deliver them to the Heavens and into the embrace of the Goddess. A holy figure to be revered, not to be befriended. A lonely figure among a thronging sea of people that always parted around her, praying at her feet yet refusing to approach her.

Standing before the church’s stained glass window depicting the benevolent Goddess reaching ever skywards, the truth of her fate was delivered to her by a group of priests, their voices containing not a hint of passion, as if they were blandly discussing the weather.

Because to them, her death was nothing more than a fact - a truth that could not be overturned.

When the light of salvation arrived from the Heavens, she would walk the land of Sylvarant in a quest to reach the tower that represented hope, and thus preordain an era of fortune, dooming herself in the process.

In that single moment, her heart grew cold, as if she had suddenly found herself lost in a vicious winter storm, flurries of snow assaulting her from every direction.

The few hands that had bothered to reach out towards her, to wipe the tears from her cheeks and coax a smile from her…

She would lose them, no matter what.

~~~

“Colette, would you like to go pick apples in the orchard today?” her father offered, nursing a steaming cup of tea over the dining table, empty plates littered with crumbs still scattered over it.

The scratch of pencil against paper stopped, and she sat up straight in her chair in excitement, homework forgotten. She barely spent any time with her father - most of it was monopolised by the priests. She had long since learned to stop asking, not wanting to be the one to put that horribly sad expression on his face when he gently turned her down.

She opened her mouth to answer enthusiastically, but the words wouldn’t come. They were trapped in her throat, drowning in poison that bit at her skin. The priests’ words from yesterday echoed in her ears, that strange chill gripping her heart in its claws once more.

“I… I have a lot of homework to catch up on, Father, so maybe not today.” She smiled weakly, not understanding why those were the words that had left her lips as she stood, gathering loose sheaves of paper. “I think I’m going to go back to my room now.”

In the silence that followed, neither her father nor her grandmother said a word to interrupt it. Her grandmother passed her a plate of still-warm cookies, a terrible guilt haunting both of their gazes.

She hurried up the stairs, cracks splintering on the surface of her heart.

If this was how they had felt all this time, then she could understand why they never spent any time with her.

~~~

“That’s all I have to teach you today. Class is dismissed.” Professor Raine snapped the book in her hand shut, faint muttering exploding into a ruckus as friends made plans and chattered about their day. “Remember to do your homework!” she yelled over the chaos as the dozen or so students jostled each other to be the first to leave the stuffy classroom.

Colette continued to stare out the window at nothing in particular, watching clouds drift across the colourless sky.

“Hey, Colette! Wanna come over today?” Lloyd grinned, sliding into view and jolting her out of her thoughts. The vibrant red he always wore was a shock after an hour of overcast grey, blooming to consume her vision. “We can do our homework together and then go visit Genis to see if he’s feeling any better.”

“I…” she faltered, heart sinking when the smile on her best friend’s face flickered for a moment at her hesitation. She had never, ever voluntarily given up a chance to spend time with the only friends she had, who stole her away from her closed-off world of prayers and scriptures to a world of fun and laughter where she could be nothing more than an ordinary girl.

She didn’t understand, how she could want nothing more than to be by the side of those she held dear, only for the thought of doing so stabbing a knife through her heart.

She shook her head. “I’m a little tired today. Sorry, Lloyd. Maybe next time?”

The lie slid from her lips with ease, despite not knowing when she could next spend time with him - not without this strange numbness creeping into the very depths of her soul.

“Oh. Well, that’s alright.” She glanced away when his expression crumpled, disappointment flooding his face.

“Give Genis my well wishes, won’t you?”

She folded her hands in her lap, keeping her head bowed, not wanting to bear witness to his crestfallen expression.

“...Alright. See you, Colette."

~~~

The ticking of the clock echoed loudly in her ears as she kicked her feet back and forth, seated at the dining table and pondering the intricacies of a complicated math equation.

This had been the longest week of her life. Guilt had choked her each and every time she had turned someone away, but the biting sting from the cracks in her heart that were only continuing to spread was worse, never fading. Tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, she slumped over the table, burying her face in her arms.

What was she supposed to do? She didn’t want to keep doing this - she didn’t want to keep hurting those she held dear. But the pain wouldn’t stop.

If she was inevitably going to die, then what was the point of enduring all this pain in the first place?

Steady knocking of a fist on wood bid her raise her head, and she wandered over to the door in a daze to see whoever it was that would come over at this time of the night.

“Hey, Colette!”

A familiar face greeted her in the doorway, and she wondered if she was dreaming.

“Lloyd? What are you doing here so late?” she asked, her gaze roving over her best friend, dirt smudging his cheek and a small glass jar wedged under his arm.

“I have something to show you, is all!” He offered her a hand, his smile small but brave, surely knowing there was a chance she’d turn him down again. Yet still he reached out for her, as he always did, never giving up.

She wavered on that threshold, weary, her heart pulling her in two different directions. She could just give him the excuse that it was late, far too late for the Chosen to be wandering into the woods. But she…

A hand landed on her shoulder. “You should go, Colette.”

She turned to stare in confusion at her father, who gave her an encouraging smile and a squeeze of her shoulder.

“I… Alright…” she mumbled, taking Lloyd’s hand.

~~~

Frank had watched his daughter close herself off from the world all week, grief colouring his gaze as he watched her slowly kill her own heart with every passing second without even realising she was doing it.

She had been on the verge of becoming nothing more than a living corpse with the trappings of a messiah. Still able to shamble her way to the tower and sacrifice herself, giving away the heart beating in her chest that had died long ago.

And not a single person would have cared, so long as she completed the duty she had been born to carry.

Perhaps that would have been easier. A peaceful existence, one without suffering, that would come to an end without any regrets.

But it broke his heart to lose his daughter this way, even if he could no longer reach her anymore.

So he hoped, and prayed, because that was all he could do.

~~~

“Woah! Careful there!” Lloyd laughed, steadying her as she slid down a slope, having nearly tripped over a particularly large root. She grabbed onto his arm, preventing herself from falling face-first into the dirt.

The sound of his laughter, carefree and bright, soothed the aching of her soul. It had been a while since she’d last heard it, hadn’t she? The warmth of his hand seeped into her arm, slowly melting the ice around her heart. For a moment, she could be an ordinary girl again.

She’d missed him.

“Here we are.” Lloyd ushered her into a clearing, the dense leaves of the trees clearing to reveal the moon hanging high in the night sky among the twinkling stars, casting everything in liquid silver. “Now we just have to wait.”

“Wait…?”

She didn’t have to wait long, a gasp rushing from her lips as gold erupted from all around her.

“Fireflies…” she whispered in awe, spinning in a circle to observe the clearing, which had completely transformed. There were so many of them! The tiny insects were almost like stars that had fallen from the sky, sharing their radiance as they floated gracefully about, doing as they pleased. Some filled tree hollows, and some fluttered past her hair, surrounding the both of them.

It was a magical sight, one that Lloyd had still wanted to share with her, despite how hard she had been shoving him away all week, refusing to let him in as she shut her heart in a gate to protect it. He truly was kind, wasn’t he? Kind enough to see her as nothing more than a normal girl, one with normal troubles, with normal dreams, who deserved to be happy…

She couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face, even as her heart continued to break.

“Anyway, here!” The jar she had noticed him carrying was now shoved beneath her nose, filled to the brim with vibrant gold. She accepted it with careful hands, tracing the paths that the fireflies made against the glass. “You’ve been down all week, so I thought maybe I could cheer you up. I’m… glad you’ve finally smiled,” he mumbled, averting his gaze, the tips of his ears red.

She cradled the jar close to her chest, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks, drop after drop. It still hurt, so very, very much, and it always would. To know that moments like these would one day come to an end - that no matter how much she cherished these memories, they would inevitably be wrenched from her. And every time, her heart would remember this pain.

Perhaps it would be easier to cast it away in this sea of gold and let it dissolve into nothing, shielding her from the sea of pain that threatened to drown it. But it would mean giving up this overwhelming joy that she had forgotten, and she would not forego her dwindling chances to spend time with those she loved, knowing that here, she was safe, cared for by gentle hands that would never let her go.

“W - what’s wrong?” Lloyd panicked, rushing closer. “Did I -”

“You didn’t say anything wrong, silly.” She laughed, for the first time this week, letting the lock over her heart fall and shatter as she took his hand, rubbing the dirt that stained his fingers. “I’m just… really, really happy. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Truly? You’ll tell me next time, though, if you’re feeling down again? I promise I’ll cheer you up!”

“It was just something silly. Nothing to worry about. I’m feeling much better now. All thanks to you, Lloyd!”

His cheeks flushed beet red again at her words, and she giggled, squeezing his hand.

Her happiness would not last. But she would make the most of it right now.

She would live, to the best of her ability. That was the decision she had made.

#fanfiction #one shot #tales of symphonia #colette brunel #lloyd irving #frank brunel #i marathoned six hours of lecture and my brain is leaking out of my ears so good time to post this

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steppingstonesuniverseguide · 9 months

Text

One More Step Out of the Pit: Chapter 1/26

Summary: It had been Tommy and Tubbo for practically forever. They clawed their way out of hell together. They discovered their superpowers together. They started working for the Superhero Guild together before even coming of age. Tommy probably owed Tubbo his life ten times over. So, when the three supervillains he'd been assigned to bring in managed to take Tubbo hostage, well, there was really only one thing to do.

He knew, of course, he was signing himself up for torture and death by offering that trade, but that was okay.

It'd have to be okay.

AO3 Link (See AO3 for Warnings.)

(This story is finished and has been posted on AO3 for a while, but I'm posting it on Tumblr so it's somewhere else too (considering the day AO3 was down a bit ago). The author notes will all be kept as well. If you are following the blog and don't want to see these posts, block the tag #backlog.)

Author's Note: Look... eneli wrote a fantastic and entertaining superhero AU for the Dream SMP and superhero AUs are kind of my thing so... this happened.

“I,” Whippoorwill said, nose dripping blood onto the cement floor. Tommy wondered if his shoe was bloody now or if it had taken a second for the blood to well up after the kick to the face he’d just delivered the man. There had been stunned silence for a few moments after Tommy had used Whippoorwill’s face as a springboard. Whippoorwill was apparently still so shocked by Tommy’s very pog move that he’d forgotten to try to use his powers on Tommy, “am going to skin you alive and feed you to my dog.”

“Quite the threat there, Bitch Boy,” Tommy taunted. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Whippoorwill’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “That can be arran-”

“You don’t have a dog,” another voice interrupted.

“Shut up,” Whippoorwill said as Tommy let out a cackle.

“You don’t,” The Blade said. Tommy glanced at the imposing figure of the man casually strolling up to stand beside his ally and immediately grew suspicious. There had been three of them only a couple of seconds ago, Tommy was sure. Where was Philza and why were they acting so… casual all of a sudden? Tommy looked up, scanning the room.

Whippoorwill seemed to notice. “Why don’t you come down from there,” he cooed in a sing-song tone. Tommy winced at the sharp edge to his voice, unsure for a moment what it was meant to do before the support beam he’d been standing on suddenly snapped. He jumped up as it started to plummet towards the ground tilting his body so he could plant his feet briefly on the wall and shove off of it like a swimmer shoving off the side of a pool. He went zooming past their heads before spreading out his arms to make his slow fall more precise. His feet touched down softly on top of a table.

“You probably should have made something fall on top of him instead of out from under him,” The Blade drawled.

“Maybe you should stop with the criticism and try to stab the bastard,” Whippoorwill snapped, but Tommy was filtering out their bickering at this point, having figured out what it was: a distraction. He’d caught just a flash of green when he’d been falling and turned his attention in that direction. He jumped and spring boarded off a nearby pillar to propel himself towards the wall, hand catching a pipe in the ceiling so he could swing and make it through a gap about a foot wide between the top of the wall and the ceiling.

“Shit!” Whippoorwill’s voice echoed dangerously after him, but he was too slow and Tommy went careening into Philza, taking them both to the ground, the man’s wings unable to stop it. Knowing he did not want to engage in close combat with Philza of all people, Tommy began to move the second they hit the ground, rolling off of him and jumping as high as he could to grab the thing Philza had been reaching for a moment before. He let himself fall fast, ducking and rolling as he hit the ground and landing crouched.

“Guessing this is what you guys were here for,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t know what it is, but I’m going to have to say no.”

Philza was already on his feet, wings flared impressively and Whippoorwill had screeched a hole through the wall Tommy had hopped over for him and The Blade.

“Well anyway,” Tommy said, backing up a step. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

“Mate,” Philza said in a reasonable tone which Tommy knew was actually a threat. “Exactly where are you expecting to go?”

“Let me guess,” Tommy said, wryly. “Hand it over and you won’t let Whippoorwill feed me to his imaginary pet dog.”

Philza made a face and Tommy shoved the little glowing orb in his pocket for safe keeping. He smirked just a bit, already having an escape route in mind. Philza in many ways had an advantage over Tommy. He was bigger, stronger, and had wings that could let him actually fly instead of just fall with style.

These things could also be disadvantages. Philza watched him, as he backed up to the wall, large, imposing, and backed by his allies. Tommy flipped open the just big enough for him to fit down it trash shoot and quickly hopped in feet first. He laughed at the sounds of surprise and anger as he zoomed away. Good luck following when none of them could fit and even if they could, none of them had a way to slow their decent in the tight space before they hit the garbage at the bottom.

Tommy was home free.

Well… not quite home free.

“You let them get away?” his supervisor raged back at headquarters. Tommy tried not to cower because he was a big man, a big strong superhero, and he’d just stopped some dastardly plot by a group of three powerful supervillains all on his own. But… well… he was… not afraid, definitely not afraid of his supervisor and mentor, that would be silly, but he was healthily cautious around the man. He really, really, really did not want another round of personal training sessions with him. “This is the fourth time!”

It was more than the fourth time really. He’d had many more brief run-ins with the SBI all together, in pairs, and individually, but he tried to keep that fact off the radar as much as possible. However, this had been an official mission Dream had sent him on, so there was no way to get Puffy to pretend like it didn’t happen for him.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said as quiet as he could. Tommy was not often quiet, but Dream did not like it when he was loud. “I prioritized stopping whatever they were doing instead of capturing them. It was a mistake.” It was not a mistake, Tommy knew. If he ever had engaged with even one of them head-to-head, he’d surely be dead or worse by now. Discounting that one fluke where The Blade had decided to not slit Tommy’s throat for some unknown reason. Tommy was sitting here today out of a mixture of quick wits, stubbornness, and luck.

“Yes, it was,” Dream said coolly. “You failed your job.”

You couldn’t beat one of them let alone three of them. Tommy thought angrily, but he was not stupid enough to say it… again. Dream had once lost a one-on-one duel to The Blade. He… did not like being reminded of it. Instead, Tommy looked at the ground. “I’ll try harder,” he promised.

“See that you do,” Dream said. “You’re not getting paid for tonight.”

Tommy swallowed his protests. That was… not ideal. Tommy was already living paycheck to paycheck without a night’s work being docked. Yet, it was better than the alternative both physically and financially. Being tossed back into training meant not only getting half pay for however long the man decided he needed more training, but also would require medical supplies in the aftermath that Tommy simply did not have in stock. A missed paycheck meant having to ration food a bit harder, but it was still better than the alternative.

“Sorry,” Tommy said again.

“You should be. Now go.”

Tommy did not have to be told twice. He got up quickly and left Dream’s office as fast as he could.

It was past time for Tommy to go home by this point. Dream had kept him waiting for about 2 hours before finally calling him in to talk. He was supposed to get off at 10pm, but it was almost 1am now. Tommy was exhausted, but he still had quite the walk home.

He grabbed his bag from his desk and tossed it over his shoulder, trudging out of the building and waving at the members of the night crew he recognized.

The night was chillier than he’d been expecting, and he flipped up his hood, curling his arms around himself as he walked. He didn’t like walking home so late. Usually at 10 there were still some people around, but the roads were practically deserted at this time of night. He hoped he didn’t get mugged. Not that they could probably actually mug him considering he was a trained superhero, but it would still suck if someone tried.

Of course, just as he had the thought, he stumbled across a pool of dark liquid on the sidewalk. It was hard to make out exactly what it was since it was between streetlights, but it certainly looked liked blood splatters. He groaned to himself, but he couldn’t not check it out. There was a trail of the liquid that went past some buildings. Tommy lightened his footsteps until he was practically not touching the ground. He was surprised when he stepped into a little green area surrounded on all sides by large apartment buildings. Weird. Luckily, the area was lit up with some sort of softly glowing stones and the ‘blood trail’ ended up stopping under one of them. Except in the light, it clearly was not a blood trail. It was dark blue, not red, like maybe someone had spilled some ink. Well, that was a waste of time.

Yet, as he turned to exit the strange little alleyway, he caught sight of a sign. ‘Community Garden,’ it read, ‘Take what you need.’

Tommy paused. Oh, this was very illegal, he thought, as peered around him at what after a moment of observation was obviously rows of vegetables. An uncontrolled food source? Whoever had planted this could face so much jail time and that was before accounting for however they had gotten the seeds. By all rights as a superhero, Tommy should call this in immediately.

On the other hand… Tommy carefully picked his way through the garden. It was pretty even in the dark. Tubbo would love this. He picked a couple of vegetables, only enough that could fit in his bag without being squished and left the rest. He felt… a little guilty even though it was an illegal garden and had literally said he could take what he needed on the sign. Still, he continued his trek home feeling a little lighter despite the illegal weight in his bag.

Author Notes:

@People who read my superhero AUs in another fandom and also enjoy the Dream SMP. Hi ;)

Are you afraid?

#backlog

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just-horrible-things · 2 years

Text

Whumptober Day 12 : What Could Go Wrong?

‘Verse: Box Boy Universe Story: Just Acting

Points of Failure [ First | Prev | Next ]

The windows are large, set in ornately molded frames. Stylised leaves and flowers of painted wood conceal the structural steel beneath. The panes themselves are shatterproof and bulletproof. Liv has seen thinner walls – albeit only in the kind of shitty prefabs that probably don't legally count as fit for human habitation.

Her reflection is a mess, makeup smeared dramatically across her face. Self-conscious for a rare moment, Liv wipes her cheeks with the backs of her wrists before shaking herself out of the distraction. Time’s wasting.

There's no key on the sill – she should be so lucky – but there are lockpicks built into the structure of her bodice. It's the work of a moment to tease them out of the fabric.

She's sailed cleanly through every one of Gil's "points of failure" so far, but this is another – and the first one after the deed is done, the first where she has little to no hope of deniability if she's caught.

Her fingers tremble on the picks, making the task more difficult than it should be.

No one, she reasoned, invests in the highest tech locks on windows that only open from the inside. Right?

Someone knocks at the outer door. The sound is muffled by the intervening door, but Liv still jumps nearly out of her skin. She drops a pick and has to hurriedly crouch to grab it from the thick plush carpet.

Once the first pin clicks, the rest follow soon after. The window is unsurprisingly heavy as she heaves it open. Night air rushes in, shockingly cold across damp, nearly-naked skin.

One more failure point cleared, but the next follows immediately – will anyone see her exit? The plan allows for being seen, so long as she isn’t seen and then caught.

There’s another knock behind her. A male voice inquires apologetically after Ma’am.

Liv presses her face to the glass, cupping her hands around her eyes to exclude the light from the room. She can’t see anyone looking at the house – but she can’t see much in the dark.

She glances back.

Will they let themselves in, if their mistress doesn’t answer, or will they take her silence as a dismissal and go away?

Her nerve breaks.

She swings her legs over the sill, lowers herself – with trembling arms that almost refuse to bear her weight – and drops.

Air rushes past her for a vertiginous second. Then her feet hit the ground. Her legs fold, absorbing momentum, and she rolls. The jolt shocks through every bone in her body, but she’s fine.

The crushed petunias – or whatever these plants are she landed in – will be treated as evidence in the morning. That’s okay.

As she finds her feet, one ankle protests. It feels like it’s going to be unhappy with her for days – but it’s not broken. Sprained at worst, probably not even that. Liv brushes stray bits of plant matter from her clothes. There’s mud smeared up one leg, but it can’t be helped.

Her heart is pounding. Adrenaline takes the edge off her exhaustion, but it can only do so much for the ache of overworked muscles. She didn’t expect to dance for an hour or more before she made her escape.

Swallowing back the unhelpful impulse to run, she picks her way daintily out of the flowerbed and begins to tiptoe across the lawn, picking her bare feet up as if uncomfortable treading in the wet grass. Her disguise is much better armour than any mad dash for freedom could be.

But she’d rather not test it too hard. The pavillion is directly between Liv and the outer wall. Voices and laughter from that direction suggest that it’s just as busy as it was on her way in, so she avoids it.

Instead she follows the shadow of the house towards the koi ponds, then turns left to strike out across the fancy little geometric zone that Gil called the parterre.

She regrets her choice no more than ten steps onto the neatly raked gravel. It’s not like the mostly smooth-edged pebble gravel at her childhood home, across which she used to run carelessly despite the winces of the adults. This stuff’s a lot sharper, and discomfort soon turns to enough pain to see her veering right towards the much-more-tolerable-looking paved path that winds beneath the wisteria trellises.

Low orange lamps imitate candles, casting a soft and romantic light across the foliage. It would be a very pleasant place to walk, even though the trellises aren’t in flower, if not for Liv’s racing heart that beats so hard in her chest it almost hurts, as if she was running flat out – even though she is still walking daintily, playing the part of a worried pet trying to hurry without sacrificing elegance.

She turns a vine-wrapped corner, and almost walks bodily into Jude Barncroft.

“Oh,” she squeaks, imitating Smith’s startle. A hand flies to her lips, she flutters her fingers, then tries to reach for her hair – forgetting that it’s braided tightly tonight. “Liv Ramone,” Jude exclaims, “as I live and breathe.”

[Next]

#whumptober2022 #no.12 #what could go wrong?#oc #bbu #fic #pet whump #nsfwhump #implied noncon #death tw #(warnings are mostly for the story and situation)#(neither death nor noncon happen in this piece)#my writing #just acting #liv ramone #jude barncroft #blingalingaling #it's act three!#excited to get back to this after the break

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kijobaby · 2 years

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Series: JoJos Bizarre Adventure Ship: Jotaro x Kijo Words: 1115 This is just a really short blirp I wrote to distract myself from some stuff. It’s not v fluffy or anything but Jotaro is Jotaro and shows affection in his own way, lol. And the ending is cute, so - shrug -

Jotaro had simply been strolling through out of curiosity. His mother often brought him to these flea markets as a child and while he had no appreciation for them when he was younger, now he’d learned the value in exploring these events. Especially when older fishermen had stands; they found many peculiar things on their ventures out to sea, often catching them in nets or on lines, and Jotaro’s interest in the marine world had certainly expanded upon the discovery of these souvenirs.

Yet, today, that wasn’t what had caught his eye.

Instead, Jotaro was drawn to a little tent that had cropped up just at the end of the pier. At the entrance there were two, metal easels holding large canvases. The paintings were beautiful; Jotaro recognized the darkened horizon of the ocean, illuminated by the glow of the moon that hung just over the current. The other one held some sort of siren, her face bloodied but lovely, and it had a similar color pallet to the first painting. Jotaro drew closer to admire the detail in the siren’s face, the texture of ripped skin around bladed teeth and beady black eyes that seemed to stare straight through him enticing his curiosity.

The style of the paintings were eerily familiar but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

Jotaro ducked his head as he stepped into the tent, looking around at the various paintings inside. Some of the paintings were tame, mostly romanticized pieces that must have been inspired by the local scenery, and then others held the same macabre style as the siren. Jotaro hovered by a painting of a jellyfish. He recognized it as a Black Sea Nettle, and despite its notoriously dark features it still somehow glowed in contrast against the inky blackness of the ocean behind it. He reached forward to touch it before a voice called out to him,

“ I just finished that one,” the voice was charming, bold, and Jotaro snapped his head in the direction of it. “ 24 hours. I’ll tell you what, that jelly fish gave me a lot of trouble--”

“ Kijo.”

It’d been a long time since Jotaro had seen her, and finding her at the market was the last place Jotaro had expected. But there she stood, with the same long locks of curly black hair and gently freckled face that he remembered from ten years ago. Although her silhouette had thinned out considerably, and he noticed that her once fiery eyes now looked tired, rimmed with exhaustion. Kijo stared at him in surprise before she gave a nervous laugh,

“ Wow, Jotaro?! I didn’t recognize you! Look at you! I see the hat remains as prevalent as ever.”

Jotaro had been stunned into silence upon seeing her, but Kijo wasn’t bothered. He’d never been too much of a talker. What she’d interpreted as his normal personality, though, was actually shock; Over the last ten years, Kijo had popped up in his mind a few times and he’d been curious as to where she’d ran off to.

The fight with Dio had left its scar on her. After all, she’d spent several months recovering in the hospital; the gaping wound Dio had gifted her had left her at deaths door, partially immobilized and permanently infertile. Jotaro had been there when she’d received the news that she’d never be able to bear a child. It’d left her devastated, and that devastation had pushed her to run to Italy to pursue a career in art.

That was the last Jotaro had heard from her.

“So, you’re an artist.”

Kijo shrugged, glancing towards her canvases, “ I guess you can call me that. I’ve spent years going to school for it, yet I don’t feel much like one.”

“Hm.”

There was an awkward silence now. Kijo observed Jotaro curiously. She wasn’t sure what to say. Was he mad at her? She had left without so much as a goodbye – nothing but some sappy, poetic letter that she vaguely remembered scribbling the line, “ the hills of Italy call to me!” while in a drunken, manic slur. They’d grown really close prior to her leaving, and he’d been faithful in visiting her while in the hospital and during her physical therapy, so she always felt guilty about how he must’ve felt with her just up and disappearing.

Kijo had always hoped he understood why she had to leave, though.

I had to pour my pain into something that wouldn’t destroy me.

“ But I’m back! At least, for now. I’ve got a nice little place, not too far from here. Are you close by?”

Jotaro had taken to looking back at the paintings, but he nodded, “ I am.”

“What are you doing these days?”

As a man that wasn’t known for sharing every detail of his life, it was no surprise to Kijo when he simply shrugged his shoulders, “ not too much.”

Yet, she still found it irritating as ever. She narrowed her eyes on him and crossed her arms,

“… O-kaaay. It’s been like, ten years. I’m sure you’ve been up to something. School, career – wife…?” she asked the question hesitantly, as if almost cringing. Why did a part of her hope he was single?

“ Divorced.”

Oh. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and she cursed herself for her prying,

“ Well fuck, forget I asked. I didn’t mean to--”

“ It’s fine. It was mutual,” Jotaro paused, his eyes returning to the jellyfish. He jutted a finger at it, “ how much?”

“ Huh? O-oh, uh – 5000 yen!”

There was a pause before Jotaro fished his wallet out of his pocket. He sifted through the bills before handing her a bundle, and then he turned to pull the canvas off the easel. Kijo stared at him in shock.

“I have to get going. Will you be here next week?”

“U-uh… Yeah...”

“ Alright.”

Jotaro nodded at her before turning to exit the tent. He paused in the entrance and glanced back at her,

“ You are an artist. Don’t doubt yourself.”

“… Okay. Thanks?”

Jotaro, seemingly satisfied, left the tent and Kijo watched after him. It wasn’t until she no longer heard his retreating footsteps that she was pulled from her daze and able to look down at the bundle of bills in her hand, and as she inspected it, she realized he’d given her 12,000 yen, more than double what she’d said the price of the canvas was. Quickly, Kijo hurried to the entrance of her tent and desperately searched the passing crowd for Jotaro, but the behemoth of a man had long since disappeared.

Kijo felt her chest grow warm as she turned, unable to fight the smile coming to her face. She placed a hand to her face and, with a sigh, whispered,

“ Good grief.”

#i havent determined a ship tag for us but it will b cute #lol #kijos writing

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Text

I got you

How did this happen? I don’t know. I’ve been watching my person play too much MW2, and then went looking for Ghost fics, so now my brain is infected.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley/female reader AO3 - Part one of the Sassy series 3.8k words - one shot Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Blood, violence, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, praise kink, size difference/kink, creampie, hurt/comfort. Lots of swearing. Everyone is bad at feelings. Notes: EOD = Explosive Ordnance Disposal. He doesn't know your name. You've never seen his face.

It’s fucking hot. Belize is so hot. It’s the kind of hot that clings to every pore of your skin, the sweat slicking across your body until you’re shiny, breath coming in short pants because the air is so god damn thick.

“Sassy. Do you copy.” Soap’s voice rings over the comms, snapping you to attention. Your fingers slip on the button. Belize would probably be better if this was a vacation, and not an Op. A gnat whines next your ear, and you press your chin into your shoulder.

“I’m in position.” You whisper. “All clear.” An affirmative rings back as Price gives command to the others. You sit silent. Gaz spits something over the radio, but it's not directed at you, so it doesn’t register. You sit still.

You always sit still.

“You the demo expert?” The brunette with a Scottish accent and scarred chin looks you up and down.

“I’m a bomb tech.” you dead pan, eyes darting around the tent. There are only 3 others here. You were expecting a whole team. He chuckles.

“Suicide squad. Nice.” Another man, rises from where he’s sitting a few yards away. You recognize him immediately. Price.

“Sassy.” He extends his hand, and you grip it in yours.

“Captain.”

“It’s good to see you. Thanks for coming on such short notice.” You nod, managing to steal another look at the others. A younger guy sits on a table in the far corner, ball cap sitting on top of his head. A bigger man, broad, stands near an open flap, arms crossed across his chest, eyes watching you from behind the skull mask that’s pulled down his face.

You do a double take. For a second, you think he’s Mace. Your heart pounds in your chest. Price is speaking, but you’re not hearing a word. Your fingers curl into a fist as you shake your memories loose and refocus. The man in the skull mask doesn’t react, doesn’t even flinch in reaction to your odd behavior.

That’s not Mace.

So, it must be Ghost.

“I’ve got two making entry, east side.” You whisper into the radio, watching the men push through the door. You’re nowhere near a clean shot. You curse. “Soap. Come in.” The line is silent, and unease pools in your gut. “Captain, do you copy.” You call, the words cutting into the air. What is going on? “SOAP.” The word is a hiss that’s met with uncomfortable silence. Fuck.

“Why does the Captain call ya Sassy?” Soap asks one night. You’re outside under the bug net, sitting on a picnic table with him. Ghost looms ten feet away, a barely touched bottle of beer looking tiny in his massive hand. You smirk at the question.

“I’m a pain in the ass.” You say affectionately, lips curling into a smile. “But I’m also the best.”

“You’ve gotta be next level crazy to run with EOD.” Soap tilts his beer to his lips, polishing the rest off with a burp. “’Scuse me.” He stands, he stumbles, he dips into the dark where he can’t be seen. You hear the tell-tale sound of a zipper being pulled down.

“How long you been a bomb tech?” you whip your head around at the sound of Ghost’s voice, directed towards you. It nearly makes you stutter.

“A few years.”

“That all you do?” The presumption shocks you. Private sector or not, these guys were all the same. If you’re a bomb tech, you must not be able to handle a gun. You whirl on him fully, taking two steps in his direction, your own glass bottle pointed in your hand.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

He cocks his head.

“Can you shoot, Sassy?” your upper lip trembles as it curls in disdain.

“I can shoot your dick off if you’d like.” He’s still ten feet across the way, but you’re shaking with anger. You watch as the impression of the mask shifts, the bottom half of the skull moving with his lips.

He’s fucking smiling at you.

You’re about to let a stream of expletives fall from your mouth when Soap stumbles back under the net, face goofy and carefree. He draws your attention to a specific lightbulb, drunkenly mumbling something about its color that briefly distracts you.

When you look back at Ghost, he’s gone.

The men are setting charges against the exit door that the 141 is planning to use. “Damn it all to hell.” You curse, slinging your rifle over your shoulder and making a beeline off the roof. “I’m vacating.” You huff into the comms. “Inspecting demo charges, east side. Does anyone copy?” The radio silence is freaking you out. The 141 is practically a machine, for Christ’s sake. Methodical, clinical, well-practiced. A small infiltration should have been a piece of cake. You’re scurrying down a ladder when the radio crackles. Your diaphragm heaves in relief. Ghost’s voice fills your ears.

“Roger Sass. Keep me informed.” Me, not us. He’s slipping.

The door wasn’t locked.

The door wasn’t locked, and you really had to pee. These guys could piss in the yard, they could piss in a can, they could piss out the window of the truck for all you gave a shit. You needed a toilet.

You shouldered through the door, eyes down until you felt it slam against solid mass.

When you jerk your head up in confusion, all you see is black face paint and blonde eyelashes in the little mirror over the sink. The look in his eyes as he meets your gaze stuns you.

Ghost.

“Shit. Fuck.” You avert your gaze like you’ve seen him naked. Which is ridiculous, honestly. You didn’t even see the man’s whole face. “Sorry.” You mutter, turning on your heel.

“You’re alright, Sass.” He steps away from the sink. “I’m finished.” You stand halfway in the doorway, halfway in the tiny bathroom. You’re not even sure it is tiny, to be honest. It just looks small compared to his giant frame. You eye his bare hand, foreign to you without the glove, and swallow.

“Okay.” You turn to the side to give space for him to squeeze by you. He’s still wearing his tac gear, down to the tight-laced boots and vest. You already shed yours when you crossed the threshold of the tent, depositing it in the corner so you could breathe a bit. You shift when he passes, the roughness of his vest brushing against your thin sports bra and tank top. He’s looking down at you as he pauses in the doorway, with his head cocked to the side, brows lowered, eyes cataloguing your body. He lingers on the gash in your shoulder.

“Get that cleaned up.” It’s an order.

You swallow, even though your mouth is well past dry.

“I’m pushing towards the door.” You cross the street like a cat, slinking against the buildings and sticking to shadows. Soap chirps something over comms, but it’s too garbled to hear. You creep around the corner, ducking your head once to check for all clear before you’re crouched, walking slowly towards where you see the blinking charges. “I’ve got live explosives.” You wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead as you whisper into the comms. “Repeat. Live charges on east door.” It’s Price that answers you, a gunshot echoing from two floors above.

“Clear it, Sassy.”

“Copy.”

“I knew a guy.” You shrug nonchalantly, trying to play it off, but your eyes dart between the three of them.

“That wore a skull mask?” Gaz’s voice is incredulous, and you don’t blame him. It’s hard to believe. You nod. Ghost’s eyes watch you from the dark. They pin you down, marking your every move. You push it further.

“His name was Mace. I ran in a private company with him for a minute.” Soap visibly shifts, body angling towards his LT. Ghost’s hand flexes on his thigh. The fidget confirms your suspicions. You sip the last of your beer and beam it towards the rim of the metal trashcan. “It was short lived.”

They’re rudimentary. You’ve seen shit like this before, usually in IEDs, sometimes in homemade Semtex. You can practically hear your dad’s voice as you snip and pull wires. It’s like a dance. Watch your feet, or it’l go hot on ya. The lack of sophistication is laughable, and you’re pulling the first one off the door hinge in record time. You’re nearly congratulating yourself, all cocky and stupid, when you hear the telltale click of a gun.

The end of a barrel presses to the back of your skull.

“Don’t move.” You raise your hands slowly as the voice instructs you. “Turn around.” Your stomach bucks into your throat as you eye the man and his wild eyes. He looks desperate. Not good. “Those your guys up there?” He nods his head upwards. You stay still. You stay silent.

It started as a drinking game. You’d lose a hand; you’d tell a truth.

He’d lose a hand; he’d tell a truth. The half empty bottle of tequila lubricated you both, keeping you loose and easy, little pieces of your lives slipping your from lips without a care.

“You know mine.”

“Everyone knows yours, Simon.” You use it for affect. You can practically see him scowling under the mask.

“That’s what I want Sass, you lost. You spill.” He turns away from you and swipes the bottle from the table, lifting the bottom of the mask to take a swig. You sigh.

“Not going to happen. Pick something else.”

“Come on.. It’s just your name.” the gravel in his voice sends shivers across your skin.

“And it’s just your face.” His head jerks back in surprise, and he puts the bottle down on the table unfolding his giant legs from underneath the picnic table. He’s leaving. “Oh, come on.” You call at his retreat, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even look back at you.

“Well?” The man steps closer, and you eye the other charge that’s still live. You’re not good in these situations. You’re a bomb tech, not a people person. The gun barrel presses more firmly against your head.

“Ye- yeah. They’re mine.” He leers at you. He’s not the same as the other two, the guys who planted these charges. He’s someone else. Your radio crackles.

“Sass.” It’s Ghost. You close your eyes for a second and try to get a handle on yourself. You’ve been through way worse. Get it together. “Sass. You copy?” The man with the gun studies you for a second, before he’s reaching for your radio, ripping it from your tac vest as hard as he can. You watch as his finger presses on the comm button. You lunge, yelling in warning, hoping it makes it through the static. He spins, trying to dodge you but you reach for his gun, desperate to pull it from his hands before he can fire it. You hear shouting behind you, the heavy thud of familiar footsteps drawing closer as you wrestle over the weapon. You catch a glimpse of Ghost from the corner of your eye before the guy you’re fighting with is turning, barrel pointed right at your chest. Shit.

“How’d you get into bombs?” you laugh at the question, and then tilt your head and study him.

“I like puzzles.” His eyes flick back and forth behind the mask, watching you as you watch him. You decide to test it. “My Dad can’t do a crossword, but he’s got a way with wires. Passed it down to me, I guess.” He nods knowingly. You don’t say anything further. The air between the two of you feels thick, and it’s not just the heat.

“How’d you get into SAS?” he grunts.

“I’ve got a way with guns.”

Your eyes blink open slowly to the feel of your cheek being smashed against someone’s tac vest. The guys are shouting. An engine is roaring. Your abdomen is burning.

“Shit.” You slur, vaguely aware that you’re sitting in someone’s lap, arms supporting your body as the truck careens around a corner. “Shot?” your mouth struggles to form the word and you look down to see a massive hand pressed against your ribcage. Ghost’s hand. Your own fingers crawl over his. They’re wet. Blood.

“Don’t move, Sass.” His voice is low, and he only glances down at you for a second but you know. You can feel it in the way his palm presses into your wound. You can see it in the tick of his jaw. You groan.

“Fucker shot me?” Your tongue weighs a million pounds. Gaz swears nervously next you on the seat.

“You’re alright.” Ghost says, legs flexing as the truck takes another turn, trying to keep you from jostling too much. “You’ll be fine.” You nod your agreement. You feel thick fingers stroke through the hair at the crown of your head as you drift off, the world tinging to black around you.

“LT doesn’t call you Sassy.” Johnny muses. You stretch your arms in the chair, twisting your back in hopes of cracking it a bit.

“He doesn’t.” you confirm. It’s just Sass with Ghost. Always.

“Why?”

“Don’t know.”

You wake again when you get back, your body still pressed the Ghost’s chest as he powers through camp, practically running towards the med tent. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, and at superspeed. You can’t see straight. The fire shooting in your nerves makes you want to gag. There’s someone else, walking next to you. They’re speaking in low tones to Ghost, and they brush their hand along your shoulder like they’re trying to grab you. He barks something at them, curling your body closer to his, and then you’re slipping away again, closing your eyes to fall into darkness.

“Do you ever think about what’d you do, if you didn’t do this?” he shakes his head no, immediately.

“You?” you drink a swig of water, holding the bottle out to him. His fingers wrap around yours as he takes it.

“I think I’d like to work an office job. Something boring, you know. Uneventful.”

“You wanna be bored, Sass?” You shrug, and step closer, your hips brushing between his spread legs. He blows a breath out through his nose.

“I’m sure I could find a way to make it interesting.” You take another sip, letting a single drop slip from your bottom lip and down your throat. Ghost tracks it the entire way.

He doesn’t really speak to anyone for days after you wake from surgery. And when you’re finally moving around, back with the team, he acts like he can’t see you.

It’s weeks later, when you sit next to him at the top of the stairs of the new safehouse you all moved to. The rest of the team is down in the living room, crowded around the smallest TV that Gaz rigged, watching a soccer game.

“You good?” you ask and turn to him. He doesn’t respond, just stares at the peeling paint on the opposite wall. You reach out to him slowly, watching his eyes flicker in case it’s more than just, general brooding Simon. “Ghost?”

“He put a bullet in your ribs.” Oh. Oh.

“Shit happens.” You shrug and try to play it off.

“Shit doesn’t happen to you.” He turns to look right at you, something wild lurking beneath his skin. His hand shoots out and grips you by your collarbone, five fingers folding over it with ease. He could snap you in half. You swallow thickly.

He jerks your torso, moving you like a ragdoll until he’s leaning down into your face.

“Shit doesn’t happen to you.” he says again, and you nod. His grip is strong, and his blatant contact with your body heats something alive between your legs. Something the two of you have been dancing around until this point.

“Okay. Okay, Ghost. I got you.” You whisper. His ungloved hand comes up to press a thumb into your bottom lip, sliding it across the skin there. He’s wearing the mask, but you can see the blonde flutter of his eyelashes, eyes heavy as he regards you. You blink once, twice, before he’s hauling you up with both hands, wrapping an arm around your pliable body and pushing you into the shadow of the landing. For a moment, neither of you move, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay when he pushes you back against the wall, nose pressing into the curve of your jaw, fingers stroking the outside of your pants above your cunt. It stuns you, it thrills you, and you’re immediately trying to strategize how to get your hands inside his pants. He pats you softly and it’s not enough friction, so you push your hips towards him, fingers trying to loosen his belt. He grabs your wrist, and you look up at him. He’s staring at you differently, intensely, like he wants to pull you apart and put you back together. You gulp, and then he snakes his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants, down to the seam of your cunt. The pads of his fingers are calloused, and you bite down on your tongue as he strokes over your clit. Your body explodes with tiny little shocks, and you whimper, your lips pressing to the outside of the cloth stretched across his face. “You’re wet.” His voice is rough. “Y-yeah.” You stutter. “That’s what happens.” He growls. “Your mouth” he thrusts a finger upwards inside you, forcing you to gasp. “is annoying.” You lean your head back against the wall give him an open-mouthed smirk. “So shut me up then.” His head tilts, and something dark flashes across his eyes. You grin.

He’s got your pants down around your ankles, your face pressed against the cool stone of the wall, and a hand up your shirt, fingers twisting one of your nipples as the other swirls the head of his cock through your wetness.

“Fuck.” He growls above your ear, his cock breaching you, pushing steadily against your walls, slowly tearing you apart. Your cunt clenches around him, the burn of the stretch too good, and too much at the same time. His shoulders bear over yours, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

“Ghost.” You whine, palms slapped against the wall. His free hand moves to cover your mouth.

“Hush. You can take it. Hold still.” You freeze because, well, Simon says. You shriek against his hand as his cock pushes into your cervix. He’s so big. It hurts. It feels so good. He thrusts, dragging his cock down and then up, over and over until you’re a teary mess, grunts and whimpers slipping out between the lips you’re trying to keep closed. He pauses, fingertips lightly brushing over where gauze is still wrapped around your body. “Good?” he whispers above your ear, and you nod frantically.

So good. Too good. Don’t stop.

He fucks into you slowly, working you open with a patience that surprises you. His breathing is harsh and unsteady, one arm bracing against you to hold your body in place, the other pressing against your cunt, his fingers finding your clit with ease. It’s too much, and your body jolts backwards, nestling your ass deeper in waiting space between his hips. He holds your there, rubbing circles around your clit and sliding his cock in and out of you, the sounds your bodies are making together probably way too loud considering the team is sitting just downstairs. His hand releases your mouth, and you shove your face against the wall, desperate to find some leverage.

His lips press against the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. His lips without the mask. Your eyes widen as you make the realization, your brain putting it together as you feel his teeth nibble into you, lips sucking blood to the surface of your pores so he can mark you. You can’t turn your head to look, and even if you wanted to, you don’t think you would. He doesn’t even know your name. He groans into your skin, the feeling of his unmasked jaw pressing against you is something you’re going to be holding onto long after Belize. He strokes your clit, pushing and pulling your body towards an orgasm, your walls clenching down on him as he ruts against you.

“F-fuck, Sass. That’s it, good girl, that’s it. Come for me.” The praise electrifies you, and then you explode into a white-hot orgasm, coming with him lodged deep inside of you, his arm holding your twitching body against his. He fucks you through it, steadily, rushing after his own release, and he presses his nose into your hair as he whispers something unintelligible. Your orgasm is still lingering, every one of your nerves alive and on fire, and you’re a whimpering mess against him. The floor creaks under the steady movement of his hips, his body working yours relentlessly as he thrusts up into you until he’s coming, filling you up, shaking with your call sign on his lips.

“So, you gonna let me see your face now?” you’re sitting out back on a half stack of bricks, passing a beer back and forth. He turns every time to adjust the mask when it’s his turn for a sip.

“You gonna tell me your name?” you chew on your lip, and he nods, handing the bottle back to you as he stands. “I don’t need your name Sass. I’ve already got you.” His fingers stroke through your hair, the touch soothing and sweet, and you find yourself speechless.

“You don’t have me.” You rebuff him indignantly.

“That so? We’ll see.” He leaves you sitting outside with the beer, eyes staring daggers at his retreating back. It’s a different thing, to be had, to be known, in a world like this. You don’t know if you can do it. You don’t know if he can either. You glance through the screen door into the back of the house, where he stands leaned against a counter talking to Soap. His head tilts, and he finds you with that same gaze, the one he gave you when he had himself buried in your cunt. You shiver.

Okay, Ghost. I got you.

I’ve already got you.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #ghost cod #peaches writes #clearly i have a problem #female reader #sassy series

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sunsetdew0101 · 10 months

Text

Second Chance

Chapter 2

Cold silence covered the room.

While leaning against Aisha's legs, supporting the girl, Espeon had her fur standing up. Aisha's skin turned from a warm honey color to a pale tone; her legs would have given way if it hadn't been for the steady hand of Daisy and Gary and their Eevees.

In contrast to Professor Oak's calm but firm expression, Delia had a disgusted, irritated frown. It is the registered trademark of Delia Ketchum. And her tantrums.

"So?" she demanded in an expectant voice. "I'm waiting for an answer. I still have a word in her choices!"

You have to be kidding me, Daisy thought. Fortunately, before she could pour the poison she wanted on the woman, Samuel interrupted his granddaughter's thoughts. With a voice calmer than his body language should allow, he tried to reason with the irritated woman.

"What do you mean Espeon is hers? The deal was for her to stay with the Pokemon until it evolved. Then she would return to the original owner."

"Where did you get that idea, Delia?" commented the astonished Professor, "From the very beginning, I was clear that Eevee, now Espeon, belonged to Aisha and that it would be her partner. You even signed the disclaimer of how you would allow a non-Trainer under the age of ten could hold a Pokemon."

"It didn't mention that she would keep it!"

"It isn't supposed to say, Delia! It's written in the Document Header!- he vexed. "These documents are only given when a child under ten obtains a Pokemon as a partner. Permanently"

As he rubbed his eyes, he took a deep breath and looked at the enraged woman, shocked.

"For all that is sacred, Delia. Haven't you read the document before you signed it?"

"Aisha said it was an authorization to keep Eevee. You needed help figuring out whether or not there were more Eevee evolutions. She didn't mention it would be permanent!"

"Don't blame Ash for your incompetence!" Replied Daisy, despite her grandfather's scolding. "It's not her fault if you don't read things before signing! And taking a Pokemon from its trainer for no reason causes emotional damage to both of you!"

"The conversation is not with you, young girl! The grown-ups are talking!" she raged at the older girl. "I decide what's best for my daughter. I decide what kind of life she will have and whether or not she leaves the house for a journey. And guess what! She won't be leaving the house, understood!?"

Aisha loved her mother.

She loved her with all her strength. After all, it had just been the two of them until Ash let the Oaks in.

But Ash feared her as much as she loved her. On good days, Delia would be everything Ash wanted in a mother. They cooked together, walked together, and even played together. But then came the bad days.

Aisha had learned long ago not to infuriate her mother when that happened. Her arm still ached when she remembered how angry her mother had been when Ash had mentioned that she wished she could see a Pokemon battle live.

Maybe Ash should have kept quiet. Perhaps she should have gone along with Delia and given up on Espeon. But she couldn't.

For the first time in her life, she could do something that had only Ash written on it, not Ash and Delia. Everything she accomplished with Espeon was her choice, her decision. The research, the discoveries, the battles won, and even the moves learned were achievements that no one but Espeon could claim a part of.

Ash might have learned a long time ago to give up when Delia had that gelid look in her eyes or that sneer of contempt, but for the first time in her life, Aisha was going to fight back. If Ash couldn't fight for herself, she would do it for Espeon.

"No."

The room froze at the girl's firm but mild response. Delia's head swiveled slowly in Ash's direction. Espeon looked ready to spring for the woman's neck. Professor Oak moved slightly from where he was.

"Excuse me?" slowly enunciated Delia with each syllable. "I don't think I understand."

"I said no." Ash repeated, "I will not give up on Espeon. She is my partner and my priority. I'm not going to abandon her just because you decided to take over instead of reading a document that was clearly from the Pokemon League."

Aisha probably said too much. Delia's gaze burned, but somehow Ash managed to keep saying what he had to say.

"It's my decision, Mom. Someday you have to let me make my own choices even if you disagree. It might as well be now."

"I only want what's best for you, you ungrateful."

"No, you want what's best for you. I'm not a doll you can use to fulfill all your fantasies or desires just because you feel like it. I'm my own person. Just because I'm your daughter doesn't mean I have the same dreams or likings you had at my age. I'm going to be a Pokemon Trainer. And you're not going to stop me from being one."

Aish took one last breath before saying the sentence that threw the world into chaos.

"I don't need your approval to move forward."

What happened next, Ash would never mention again to anyone but Espeon. Not even after the Police arrived did she speak, only nodding when Officer Jenny asked if she would allow Alackazan to go through her memories to make a report.

Professor Oak reported to the Police everything that happened, from the visit to check Eevee's progress and how she evolved into an Espeon to the ensuing argument that caused Delia to snap and attack Aisha. Luckily Espeon got between them and prevented Delia from doing more damage to Ash than she had in the few seconds she had.

After that, it was a constant rush between Police, Lawyers, CPS, and therapists (the last ones were irritated by Aisha's refusal to speak with them). While they sorted things out, Ash stayed with the Oaks until they transferred custody of her to Professor Oak.

Once the legal drama wore off and Delia ended up in jail, four months had passed since that fateful afternoon. Ash had practically moved into the Oak house. Besides her papers and a few pieces of clothing, most of her belongings were still at the old Ketchum residence. Once the court gave the order, they got to work.

The next few days passed in a blur as arrangements for Ash to move in with the Oaks happened. They made some trips to the old Ketchum residence to grab the girl's belongings, but excluding what was in Ash's room and some photos scattered around the house, they didn't gather much. After that, the property went on sale.

Despite the Oaks' attempts to get Ash to open up to them, she stubbornly remained silent about the events. Aisha was satisfied to pretend that nothing had happened and everything was going on likewise. Apart from Espeon's overprotectiveness and the social worker's sporadic visits, life continued in the same routine she knew. She only didn't have Delia included.

Gary was the first to abandon the attempts, to Ash's relief. He was a pain in the ass for her, but she knew when to let the sleeping dogs lie. Daisy took longer, but she stated she was always available to talk once Ash was ready or wanted to. The last one had been Professor Oak, and like Daisy, he'd left the door open for when she wanted to vent.

Once they resolve that, she could focus even more on preparing for her Trainer license test. Ash knew her stuff, but she also liked reviewing information. She was also trying to convince the Professor to pay for the materials and supplies for the trip herself.

Aisha wanted to use some of the money from the sale of her childhood house to buy items for the trip. After all, there was no need to bother the Professor.

"Aisha, please. There's no reason to spend that money now. I'll buy Gary's supplies. It's not a problem to buy yours too."

"Exactly! You're already going to buy supplies for Gary. It would be an unnecessary double expense!" Espeon and Umbreon were tense from their position, while Gary seemed to be pleading for patience as he looked up at the ceiling, "I am perfectly capable of paying for my own supplies and necessities for the journey."

"My dear, it's not that I don't think you can do it or you can't take care of yourself."

"Then why..."

"I want to do it. I want to take care of my grandchildren. That also includes you. This old man wants to be able to do something for you before you have to fend for yourself while you're traveling." Ash still marveled at how the Professor managed to keep his tone low and meek, even when she was annoying. "Keep that money in case of emergencies during the trip or if you want to settle down someday."

"But..."

"Why don't you two commit?"

Both were startled by the new voice in the room. Daisy was leaning against the living room door, her eyebrow raised in question. Gary's colorful vocabulary earned him a scolding from his grandfather, but even the Professor looked alarmed by the sudden appearance of his eldest granddaughter.

"You know, like two mature, logical people. Make a compromise. Ash can pay for her clothes if she's keen to help pay for supplies." She shrugged at her idea, "Among the shopping list, travel-appropriate clothing is going to be the least damage to her account."

There was a brief, tense silence in the room as Professor Oak and Ash digested Daisy's suggestion. Ash was the first to give up.

"Ok, Ok. But I'll pay for the clothes. And I'll accompany you to buy the supplies. I'd like to see which ones are most appropriate. Just in case."

"Finally! It looked like the two of you couldn't agree." Gary jumped up from the sofa he was sitting on and stretched. Umbreon let out a loud purr as it trotted towards its trainer, who graced it with a few scratches on its ears. "This unnecessary discussion has whet my appetite. You two are hardheads."

Ash rolled her eyes. Gary was a pain, especially with his overconfidence. But Aisha recognized, in the brightest corners of her mind, that he made the day a little brighter. She would miss him during the journey.

"I know you can take care of yourself. That's why I'm relatively comfortable with you going on a trip." The Professor never hid that he was worried about them leaving for their journey. He chose to trust them and their capabilities. "But you don't always have to work things out alone. You have more than just Espeon to help you."

Ao3

Index

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Fic Dividers Used Here

#Second Chance #Ash Ketchum #Fem Ash Ketchum #Pokemon #Delia isn't a good mother #Gary Oak #cannon divergence #alternative universe #ao3 #pokemon characters #Chapter Two #Pokemon Anime #Pokemon Anime Fic #pokemon fic #Ash Ketchum fic #Fem Ash Ketchum fic

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emaanwritesandwrongs · 1 year

Text

In the half hour before sleep overcame me 2/8/23 Midnight Well Doctor. What is the Diagnosis?

Well Mr. Phelps. I’m sorry, but as I’ve said before, we’re going to need a lot more detail of your symptoms to really understand what’s going on. At the very least something beyond just your stubborn rocking back and forth and chanting “something is wrong.”

An awkward silence hung as if Mr Phelps found nothing of concern, or any invitation to respond or dig deeper into that comment. He acted as if he had just been told that the president of Azerbaijan had a rather pleasant breakfast this morning.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and continued.

Your vitals came back looking in spectacular condition, your bloodwork panels came back healthy, and CT scans show no signs of defect or trauma... Could we please get more detail into what you may be feeling at this moment so that we may direct you to the appropriate specialist. Um, my current recommendation would be to schedule an appointment with our psychiatric department. We have some of the best care in the North Central Tri District Metroplex! I assure you -

That’s enough, Doctor. It sounds like the results of your test confirm my very fears. There is something deeply wrong with me in that there is nothing wrong with me. I lied on your intake form earlier. I am not thirty-four, that is not even a third of my age in fact. I should be withering and folding forward. Huddled and stiff! I should have been on a deathbed many decades ago surrounded by family. Yet here I am, suffering still.

I don’t understand, Mr Phelps? Still? What I mean is. When am I going to die? I’ve tried all i can to whittle myself down. I starved myself, laid in a desert without water for days. Instead the barren land around me started growing green, while I remained unchanged. I’ve tried other more gruesome methods. But the skin on my neck breaks fishing wire, and the bullet bounces off my head like a pong ball. I’m not invincible. I get paper cuts like any other person, and occasionally my stomach will be upset. I figured the intention of mine to die was the problem. I hired many hitmen to assist my own suicide yet their plans all backfire and they end up hurting themselves! You better believe those hitmen on the dark web would not even touch me with a ten foot pole.

As a demonstration in one swift movement the patient pulled a needle he had snuck out earlier from the doctor’s drawers and crushed it against his neck where his jugular vein would be. Before the doctor could react in shock, the needle shattered and spread across the floor like cheap confetti. The white walls of the Doctor’s office turned iridescent, and the informational posters on lung cancer changed its content. Instead there were only moving pictures of cats dancing in a ring-a-round-a-rosies style. Fascinating. Let’s say I don’t humor the idea of revealing the secret of your death resisting body to science - and instead I ask - well why do you want to die so badly? If what you say is true that your mere intention to die intervenes with the fate of death, and your age hasn’t naturally overcame you. You must be in a constant and unstoppable state of wanting to perish. So as a doctor, I must dig into the root of this cause. Why, yes why do you want to die so badly? Is life all suffering to you? Are you a big philosopher Mr Phelps? No. Forget about all of that. I could never really get into any of those books. Well I want to die because...

The doctor could’ve sworn he saw a hint of red flash over Mr Phelps, but if it was ever there at all then it was gone in an instant.

I want to die not because I think life is suffering. It may or may not be. I never paid attention to that aspect. I want to die because my greatest deepest dream since childhood is to have the most beautiful eulogy about me read aloud to a big crowd of people! People who love me! People who would remember me! And I believe the gods would allow me to listen to it too while I lay peacefully in that embrace of death. I’ve waited very patiently night and day like a good boy. You see, mama taught me patience as a virtue. That Noah waited thousands of years for God’s signs! So what was it for me to wait a few decades? But naturally I grew impatient, but in the healthiest manner. I didn’t jump straight to attempting to end my life as a mere seven year old! What would there to be remember about me? I grew possessive over my eulogy. I wanted more control. Day by day I decided to insert myself into people’s lives. I saved Paulas cat from the tips of that flimsy tree in the seventh grade! That would’ve been a wonderfully tragic death had the branch snapped and in turn so my neck. I defended little Johnny boy from that troublesome locker room bully Pocketknife-Mike. My actions weren’t all risk. It was also out of seeking to be remembered. I asked Nancy to the homecoming dance even though she wasn’t quite all that pretty. But I knew I would burn right into her mind the most compared to all the other underclassmen girls! What? Don’t look at me like that Doctor, I’m not even finished yet. I ran that progressive campaign to protect our minority communities on our campus, and then served as student body president. I gave up any of my feelings to that ungrateful Sarah and instead married that poor yet at least grateful girl Jeanine. I fed and raised my children. But made sure to be just enough tastefully absent except for the times I was there and needed, so that they’d not just grow tough and resilient, but remember my rare cherishing moments. But now all of them: Paula, Johnny, my children are all dead and gone. You may think I sound cruel, selfish, narcisstic, lacking a soul. Perhaps yes, and for my lack of a soul I cannot die. But how can you call me empty and heartless if all I have done is brought good into this world? And all I ask in turn is to be recognized for it? A eulogy! A real eulogy! One that I hear as a song from the other side of consciousness, while I’m locked away, frozen into place underneath coffin doors.

The Doctor pictured this man as so for a second. He could see it. Mr Phelps’ hands clasped stiffly together and a smile curled artificially into place. Phelps continued

Why there is no other perfection quite as near to the one of a lovely man’s tragic death. All his sins are forgotten and forgiven. And we rejoice over the good he has done in the world. That’s all I want Doctor. If there is suffering of mine, then this is the cure for it. I didn’t do any of this good in the world in exchange for money or power. And I am not sure how yet I will reap any personal gains from my eulogy post mortem. So tell me, should you really have that look on your face? Now that I am immortal I suppose. I find no reason to do good. I’m afraid doctor you may want to reveal the secret of my body’s ignorance to laws of biology to your torturous friends in science. Perhaps I deserve it. Mr Phelps I believe you have been born once again just now. How so? I do not want to! I propose that you now have a choice to turn your life around. Maybe instead of navigating life with a compass locked to the magnetic pull of death, try living for the sake of living! Be selfish outwardly. Break some rules. Of course I doubt you will spiral into evil. But it’s about finding a balance! Take this as a prescription for your condition and we’ll get started on a treatment plan right away! I have high hopes, Mr Phelps, that death will come to you when you are no longer seeking it. Well I’m unsure if those words give me comfort Doctor. I am unsure what I am feeling at all right now. But, very well, I’ll give it a try. I only have the rest of my life to after all.

#writes

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3rdgymbros · 3 years

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— title; all of you, all of me (intertwined)

— pairing; scaramouche x reader

— summary; in which you and scaramouche are childhood friends, and he returns to your side after a long absence

— notes; please donate to my kofi (https://ko-fi.com/thirdgymbros) if you like my content and wish to support me. reblogs are appreciated !!

Scaramouche used to hate having you trail after him everywhere when the two of you were young. He would run, he would hide, he would call you names, but still, you refused to leave him alone. You remember exploring Chinju forest with him when his patience finally ran out. He abandoned you in the forest, and you’d sobbed and wailed your heart out, calling out his name over and over. You’d only been lost for about ten minutes before Scaramouche stomped his way back to you, his heavy footsteps shocking amidst the heavy silence.

“Stop crying already.” He’d snapped, though his fingers had been exceedingly gentle as they’d wiped the tears seeping from your eyes. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Your tears had stopped, though your shaking hadn’t. It hadn’t stopped until Scaramouche had taken your hand in his, walking back home with you to the Kamisato estate.

You can’t help but think about that day now, when the darkness remains thick around you, as fresh sobs catch in your throat, a new wave of tears pouring down from your eyes. You catch a glimpse of pale, delicate features through your welling eyes, Scaramouche’s face lighting up as the first flash of electricity cuts through the mist hanging low above the ground, lightning arcing to the ground not a second behind. Scaramouche is quick to jump into battle, a huge, bloody fight between him and the Treasure Hoarders breaking out; though it’s one-sided at best, if the screams of pain are anything to go by.

An eerie silence descends. There is no crashing, no sound of footsteps.

Just you open your mouth to call out for Scaramouche in a tear-clogged voice, the crashing returns, definitely footsteps this time, and ones you recognise to be his. You remember him moving with the quiet gracefulness of a ghost, and a small part of you wonders if he’s doing this for your benefit, so as not to scare you even further. Blindly, you stumble towards Scaramouche, who heads towards you, an unstoppable force in your direction.

“Crying again?” He asks, and his voice is so familiar, it’s almost as though he’s never left Inazuma, never left you. This close, you can feel the warmth rolling off his skin. He cups your cheeks gently, running his thumbs under your eyes to dry the leftover tears there. It’s a surprisingly intimate gesture, from Scaramouche of all people, and it causes the blood to rush to your cheeks. “You really are hopeless.”

There’s a long silence following his words, broken only by the sound of your breathing and the quiet sobs that you try to swallow back so that you can speak, or do anything but cry, really. Words that need to be said, and maybe some that don’t, are like invisible fireworks exploding in the empty space between the two of you, and you’re determined not to let him leave; not until you’ve said what needs to be said.

Scaramouche must mistake your tears for those of pain; he goes rigid, and his eyes are locked onto your frame with cold rage. “What’s wrong? Did they hurt you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, or perhaps he thinks that you can’t answer. His eyes darken, from their usual airy blue to a stormy purple, a little more luminous than usual, less rich. Instead, he takes your hands in his. His hands are strong and so much larger than yours now. His skin feels thicker — tougher — than your own, and the contrast is exhilarating. His touch is comforting, warming, as his power travels over your skin, seeking to heal you of your ailments and whatever injuries Scaramouche is afraid you might have sustained. Though you’re aware that there aren’t any; you’ve been far too well-protected for that. Scaramouche had ensured that not even a hair upon your head had been harmed.

Your throat is so raw from crying, but you still can’t stop. Still, you manage to gasp out his name in between sobs. “Scara.”

“Now what?” Scaramouche asks, and though his words are all hard edges, his voice is soft. He’s still holding onto your hands, even though he must know by now that you’re uninjured.

“I’m. I’m, I’m just really happy to see you again.” The dam inside you has broken, and there is no controlling what comes out with the tears; your words and your feelings spill out of you in one messy, hopelessly tangled wad. “I missed you so much.”

— taglist; @oikadiors, @r3k1s, @bluexiao, @ohmykazuha, @fluffedstar, @test-tube, @utskushiwaarudo

#scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche headcanons #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche reader insert #scaramouche fluff #genshin impact #gi #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact headcanon #genshin impact reader inserts #genshin impact reader insert #genshin impact headcanons #♥ || sam writes.#;; if this flops it never happened

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martellprincess-writes · 2 years

Text

haikyuu!! bad boyfriends: meian shuugo

tw: 20+, minors & under-20s DNI please noncon/dubcon, f!reader, kidnapping (ish?), dom! angry! meian, spanking, belt usage, whipping, collaring, brat taming, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex

summary: A cozy cabin stay for the holidays in your hometown with your fiancé. What could possibly go wrong?

holidays AU | small town AU | vengeful ex | intruder alert

made for @taixju naughty or nice collab! ty so so much for letting me join. this was so fun!

wc: 4.1k+

a/n: this story got way too long and probably too detailed but i couldn’t help myself cuz it’s meian and it’s meian wearing a silver chain ok goodnight

“Well that was nice,” your fiancé says, setting the keys down as you both enter the cabin.

“Yeah, it was really cute. Cute and simple.” You’d brought him to your hometown for Christmas, renting out a cabin so you could show him a part of you most people didn’t know about. You were kind of embarrassed about it to be honest, leaving the second high school was over to erase this part of you. Even your parents didn’t live here anymore. But he wanted to know you, beyond the city girl that he’d met and fallen in love with. So here you were almost ten years later, coming back from the Christmas party held by the town at the quaint little community center.

“I didn’t know that small towns are the way they are in the movies. Everyone knowing each other.”

You giggle, tossing your heels aside and heading into the kitchen. “I didn’t remember like ninety percent of their names. I felt bad.”

He chuckles, unscrewing a bottle of wine with a pop. “Well hey, you knew that one guy’s name.”

“Who?” you frown, taking the box he held in front of you.

“That really tall guy. My mom sent this.”

You smile. “What is it?” Your eyes light up when you open the box, seeing the ornament she’d seen you admiring when you were at his parents’ house.

“Aw, I love it. She’s so sweet.”

He smiles, looking down at your body. “Baby you look—”

“Oh my god, if you say it one more time.”

“You do!” he laughs.

“I was definitely…overdressed.”

“Well they were…underdressed,” he raises a brow with a smile. “Simple town folk I guess.”

It was true. He was the only one in a designer suit, and you wore a red satin mini-dress. You could feel the eyes on you, forgetting that spaghetti straps and this much skin in a family-friendly setting was something they were probably not used to.

“Yeah, well,” you spin around, walking into the living room to set the ornament on the tree. “That’s why I fled as soon as I had the chance.”

“Exactly. You outgrew them, so don’t feel bad.”

Behind you, your fiancé pours himself a glass of wine, setting it on a table by the living room.

Behind you, an uninvited guest enters the kitchen, calmly and swiftly, walking toward the two of you with a purpose.

Behind you, your fiancé’s voice cuts the silence throughout the cabin:

“Uh, can we help you?”

Your head snaps to his direction just as Meian Shuugo socks your fiancé in the face. He gets him with one blow, making him fall flat, face-down to the ground, knocking him out completely.

The ornament and the box in your hands fall. Just like him. Just like you. You collapse to the ground so simply, your legs folding under you as Meian approaches, his shoes crunching over the shattered wine glass. Your eyes bore, mouth hanging open, breath knocked out of you just like it was knocked out of your fiancé. Meian wears all black, still in the suit he wore from the party — what the hell happened between then and now?

You are mute, shocked and stunned to silence, even when he reaches down for you, only your arms moving to smack him away. You spring into action, crawling towards your man, crying out his name as wine bleeds out onto the floor. You shake his shoulders desperately but Meian scoops you up, hooking his arm around your waist as he takes you away.

You scream and fight, kicking and swinging as he takes you upstairs. It seems to make no dent, Meian’s strength and build making it too easy to carry you across the house. As you approach the top of the stairs, you center your body weight, attempting to slip onto the floor and out of his grip. He lets you go, only to throw you over his broad shoulders instead. The height throws you off balance, him being a beast over 6’5”. You cling to his blazer, tears pooling as he gets you into a dark room.

Meian tosses you to the floor before he walks away. Your ears ring wildly, blood rushing to them before he shuts the door.

The thunderous speed at which everything happened comes to a halt, and it’s suddenly as if you’re the only two people left in the world. Everything goes silent.

You wait for what’s next, but he doesn’t move. His tall, broad frame in the darkened hall makes you shrink.

“What the hell are you doing?” your voice is a blubbered sob, the complete opposite of your usual sophisticated decorum.

Slowly, Meian backs away from the door. He turns to face you, a small old lamp in the corner of the room giving the faintest orange glow to his dark features. His eyes are set, his face stern, yet somehow he looks…calm. Like he didn’t just break-and-enter, assault, kidnap? He’s in control and unafraid.

You look up at him as he stares you down. You almost — almost — wonder if he won’t actually try to—

He starts to take off his suit jacket.

Your chin quivers and you close your eyes, cowering into yourself with a drop of your head.

He tosses his jacket aside as he eyes your bare legs.

“Look who has the upperhand now.”

His voice is low but still it startles you. Slowly, you pull your head up. He huffs, enjoying the confusion that settles in the creases on your forehead.

“What?”

“Well it’s always been you, hasn’t it?” One corner of his lip curls lazily as his eyes take a quick glance down your chest. The way your corset perks your breasts up makes him even more stiff in his pants than he already is just by having you in this position you’re in. “Always leading me on. I mean, why’d you even come back? Just to spite me? Just to rile me up?”

Meian wears a leather glove on one hand, the other slightly pink at the knuckles. The fist he’d used to punch your fiancé. “You’re clearly too good for this place, aren’t you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you cry. “Get out!”

He grins, his white teeth shining as he shakes his head. “No. I waited years for you. First you said the problem was the distance, that you needed to focus on college — then all of a sudden, the problem was me. I wasn’t up to your standards, huh sweetheart?”

Your jaw is slack as you stare at him in shock. You let out a breath, remembering — “that was years ago, we — we were kids. It was high school.”

Three short weeks of “dating” if you could even call it that, before you both graduated high school. It was a fling, so insignificant that you didn’t remember it until now. You didn’t even remember running into him after college, the one time you came back here to help your parents move. You didn’t remember him asking you out, running into you while you were already having a bad day, eager to get out of this close-minded town for good. “I date men with degrees,” you’d said, brushing him off like you didn’t recognize him, like he was just some insignificant small town boy, so utterly beneath you.

You see the look on his face. He lets out a laugh, but his eyes, buzzing in a below-the-surface rage, tell you otherwise. “Is that all it was for you? You told me to wait, so I did. You told me what kind of man you wanted, so I became him. I even started to accept it. I took it as a loss, I almost moved on. Then I hear you’re coming back. What could you possibly be doing back when your family’s not even here?”

He undid the velcro strap of his glove before he brought his hand to his mouth, grabbing the leather with his teeth as he slid his hand out. He tossed the glove aside, watching you as he unbuttoned his cuffs.

“I’m just here for Christmas—” you panic, lips wobbling at the sight of him preparing.

“Ah so still the sentiment stands then, that you don’t give a fuck about anyone here, the people you grew up with. Well ‘tis the season, right? So then tell me, baby,” he cracks his knuckles and crouches down so he’s at your eye level. He smirks. “Do you think you’ve been naughty? Or nice?”

You avert your eyes, your stomach caving. He stands, pacing around slowly as he undoes his tie. “I’d say naughty. Only bad girls…play with guys like this…”

You don’t want to look at him, but the way he draws out the words, like he’s distracted, getting lost in thought. He’s quiet for too long and your curiosity gets the best of you. You look up to find him shamelessly indulging himself over your figure. He licks his lips before he forces himself to come back. “Don’t you think it’s time someone put you in your place? I mean, the way you dress tells me your fiancé’s useless. I think you need a man—”

“He’s more a man than you’ll ever be,” you spit.

Meian laughs. “You sure, princess? The guy can’t even take a hit. I’m worried he might not wake up.”

“Fuck you—”

“God,” he throws his head back, pacing around again. “That’s just the worst part of it isn’t it? All this time,” he looks at his clothes. “Everything I — all for you to come back with that.”

He huffs, knowing someone as weak and ineffective as your betrothed can’t possibly be satisfying you in any way. That at least brings a smile to his face. That at least should be enough for him to walk away. To know you’re miserable. You see him shaking his head. No. No. It’s not enough, damn it.

Meian sighs. “I should hate you.” He faces you once more. His shoulders slump. “I should hate you. You’re just another arrogant, stuck-up, rich princess. But look at you...”

His eyes glaze, looking at your body like his mouth is watering. “You’re fucking….stunning.”

He looks as though his eyes water. He pushes his tongue to his cheek, his mouth open like a beggar. He drops to one knee, slapping his hands to the carpet as he crawls toward you. You pull your legs into your chest, backing away fearfully, stammering until you’re able to get on your feet. You get up and try to run, but he gets in your way with quickness, towering over you to push you back without a sweat.

You bang at his chest to no avail. Meian only presses forward, nodding, taunting you to try and fight him. He grabs your wrists and tosses you into the bed behind you. When you roll over, Meian puts his hands on your shoulders, pinning you as one hand slides down your arm, wanting to feel your warm, soft skin.

You catch an old timey clock on the dresser across the room, the one with an alarm that rang every hour to signal the change. It had the loudest, oldest, most unsettling sound. The battery case was stuck shut, that’s how old it was, so your fiancé had brought it to this room, the room on the furthest end of the cabin, where you wouldn’t have to jump every time you both heard it.

You had about a minute.

“Okay, okay!” you whine, attempting to roll onto your back. He unpins you, letting you face him. You look up at him, your chest movements as you pant making him swallow. In an attempt to get them to stop shaking, you squeeze your hands into the tightest fists before you reach for the hem of your dress. Meian’s hungered eyes follow, watching intently as you slowly pull your skirt up. He can probably see your panties now.

He leans forward, the weight of his palm creating a dip in the bed beside you as he brings his face to yours.

You quickly turn your cheek, a knee-jerk reaction to avoid his lips, but it doesn’t bother him as he settles between your thighs. He cups your chin, holding you in place as he plants a kiss under your ear. It’s a sensitive spot for you, one that tingles your lower back as you watch the clock.

You see the second-hand turning, getting close, but your eyes flutter. You moan unintentionally, the feeling of him sucking on your earlobe making you twist underneath him. You’d rub your legs together if he wasn’t between them. No — you push against his chest, making him hover above you. His eyes are half-lidded, his mouth wet.

The clock shrieks, making him jump. He looks at the dresser as you shove him, getting past. Meian grabs your arm, twisting it behind your back as he shoves you into the wall in front of you. He presses his thigh against your backside, getting his knee between your legs as he uses his body to pin you into submission.

“You’re fucking relentless,” he huffs, smiling against your ear. “You get off on it, don’t you? Being a tease. Leading men on.”

You purse your lips into your mouth, whimpering as he locks both your wrists behind your back with just one hand. He kisses your shoulder, making the hairs all over your body rise as he gets closer and closer to the crook of your neck. You press your tongue against the roof of your mouth, suppressing a soft moan. His kisses start to trail down your spine, his hot breath tickling.

“I want to taste you,” Meian whispers, his low voice vibrating your bones.

He slides his body down yours, pressing the side of his head against your ass as he gets to his knees. His head keeps you pinned to the wall as his hands grip your ankles. His palms slide up the backs of your legs, feeling, squeezing every part of you. When his hands get to the back of your knees, you bend, weak and so sensitive to his touch. He slides up the back of your thighs, gripping, needing, you. His hands cup the bottoms of your cheeks. You feel his lips kiss the inside of your thighs, going up, getting closer — you flinch, jumping to your toes as you gasp. He bites the bottom of your cheek, making you squirm, clench, squeeze your thighs closed.

Your sweaty palms press against the wall as he spreads you open, splaying kisses deeper between your thighs. He buries his face into your legs, his thumb rubbing up and down your panties, rubbing up and down your sensitive lips. You jump, a moan escaping you.

He stands up, hands sliding up your stomach so he can get to your breasts. You look over your shoulder, your eyes a deep haze as they spot his lips. Meian leans forward instinctively, wanting to press his lips against your plush pout, but he stops himself, coming to a realization.

The realization that you want him too. You want him to fucking kiss you. He thinks to do it, fuck, he craves it, wanting to explore your mouth, bruise your lips, and hijack your breath — but no. Your fucking arrogance. Your teasing, torturous, elitist, arrogance. You’re a brat. Fuck you.

Your eyes drift from his lips up his face, looking into his eyes. All doe-eyed and frightened with the slightest most hidden speck of arousal and seduction. Your lips part, reeling him in.

Meian closes his eyes and leans in, bringing his mouth to yours. You anticipate the kiss, opening up, but he only whisps the faintest touch, flicking his tongue against your teeth before he gets down to his knees again. He buries his face in one of your cheeks, enjoying the plush fat before he takes a sharp bite over the satin, making you yelp and dig your body into the wall again. You’re hot and wet with arousal, pressure building between your thighs.

He flips you over, hands slipping under your skirt as he looks up at you. Meian grabs your hips, pulling you forward as he crawls back, making your back slide down the wall so you lean your shoulders against it. He tugs on the waistbands of your panties, hiking them up your hips so they rub and tease against your clit.

You look down at him, well not him directly, you’re too coy to admit you enjoy his touch. He presses his chin into your pelvis, looking up at you like you’re his to worship. His fingers curl at the sides of your panties, slipping them down under your dress. The pressure of his chin against you, him on his knees before you, looking up at you, indulging those vain thoughts that you are above him, make you wind up with pressure, so close to—

Meian releases his chin, letting the panties slide past as you sigh in defeat. He keeps his eyes up at you as he leans in, bringing his lips to your dress. Your eyes widen and you finally make contact, staring down at him as you pant through your gaping, whoreish mouth.

He smiles knowingly before he kisses your clit, your heat present even through the satin, the softness of the cloth pleasuring both his mouth and your skin. He sees your hand from the corner of his eye, attempting to grip a flat wall that has nothing to give you. Everyone has nothing to give you. Everyone who isn’t him.

Here in the dark, you can give in to sin. Breathless, muscles coiling — there’s no one around but him, no one around to see you like this but him.

Meian kisses your clit again, enticing another stifled moan from you at his whim. He opens his mouth, wide, enveloping the whole tip of your pelvis in an open-mouthed kiss. He pulls away slowly, eyes still on you, watching you gasp desperately as he pulls the silk with him before letting it slip from his lips.

You’re going fucking feral.

Your hands land on the tops of your thighs, desperate to squeeze something. He decides to have mercy and give you his tongue. But not complete mercy, as he ducks under your skirt, hiding from view.

Being the power-hungry slut that you are, you pull your skirt up, eager to watch him as he pleases you.

His wide tongue laps you up, making you sink into him straight away. You struggle to hold yourself up and he knows it. Poor thing. He scoops your thigh up, sliding his shoulder under you. He’s broad, muscular, strong — such a man — taking care of you, letting you slip into him completely while he stays on his knees for you. You squeeze your eyes shut, throwing your head up as he moves from your clit, deeper in you, his tongue gliding down your warm folds.

He kisses your lips, the lewd sound as he sucks making you crazy. You run your hand in his hair, grabbing a fistful as he moans, the vibrations making you whine loudly,m. Your eyes water, gasping wildly before you hear him.

“You want me, don't you?” His voice is low and intimidating — dominant. “You want me to fuck you.”

“No,” you whimper, pushing into his mouth, hoping to get his tongue to do exactly that, to fuck you. Meian pulls away.

“No?” he asks. You look down at him between your perky tits.

He gets up, tossing your thigh off him, your legs jell-o. You see his chin drenched in your juices before he grabs you by your arm.

He throws you onto the bed again. “No,” you answer, pulling your knees into you as you lie on your elbows, looking up at him like only a spoiled brat would.

“Yeah,” he nods, the corner of his mouth twitching confidently. “I can tell by the way your legs clamp together.”

You watch as Meian undoes the buttons of his shirt. He rolls his shoulders out, throwing his shirt to the ground. You swallow, your mouth dry, parched, at the sight of the ripples through his undershirt, muscles apparent even under this dark light. Eager to be in his arms again, the way you were when he scooped you up and brought you here, you only blink before he grabs your hips, flipping you over before you can react. You try to sit up on your knees, but Meian shoves your face into the mattress. He leans over you, his dick hard against your pussy as he whispers into your ear.

“What did I say about being naughty? Only bad girls are liars too.”

He gets off you, the jingle of his belt as he undoes it behind you making your walls pulse. You drool into the mattress, wanting his dick, wanting him to fill you up and fuck you raw. He tosses your skirt up your back, squeezing the fat of your ass in his big hand before he smacks you. It makes your walls clench, a beggar for friction. You cling to the duvet beneath you, your hands so desperate and outstretched, waiting for him.

A whip cuts through the air, his belt slapping you against the ass. Your moan is so high, so shrill, making blood rush to his dick. He whips you again and again until you’re a slobbering slick mess beneath him.

Meian massages your red skin, knowing you want to be consoled and soothed by his soft touch alone. You roll over, your hair ratted and wild, splayed all over your face, mouth agape and glossed with saliva. You look perfect, finally looking like the bratty little slut you truly are.

“Now,” Meian sighs, panting as he wraps his belt around your neck, making sure not to catch any of your hair under the leather. “Are you done lying?”

He tightens the belt, pulling until the clamp comes to the side of your neck. He wraps his knuckles around the extra leather, looping it around his hand until his grip is right at your neck and you’re leashed like a good girl. You nod, looking up at him with the most pouty, submissive frown.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” he asks, your eyes darting to see how big his cock is as he gets between your legs. “Naughty or nice?”

He grabs his dick in his hand, rubbing it up and down your folds to electrify you. You gasp, your back arching already. It makes him insatiable, but Meian’s a patient man. He’s waited for years, he can wait some more. He sees how much it kills you to say it. Your lips quiver before you open your mouth.

“I’ll...be nice.”

“You’ll be nice? You’re not gonna be a brat anymore?”

You close your eyes and lick your lips, nodding submissively.

“Then say my fucking name.”

“M—Meian—”

“No.”

Your lashes flutter up at him, secretly begging for sympathy and for his body. You feel him right at your entrance, so close, your muscles pulsing, wanting to pull him in.

“Sh—Shuugo—”

He forces his dick in, slapping his hand onto the bed to hold himself on top of you. His other hand tugs on the belt, squeezing your neck as he slowly, so slowly, fills you up. You moan loudly, tears leaking out the corner of your eyes, running down your temples as he fills you up to the brim, his girth just as impressive as his length. You cling to his shirt, stretching it out as he stretches you.

He finally pulls back and thrusts, Meian’s moan weak and high like he’s been touchstarved his whole life. You run your hands under his back, pulling him in as you bring your mouth to his, desperate to catch his moans. This time you tease him, flicking your tongue against his teeth before he presses his face into yours, sucking the breath out of your mouth. His kiss makes you dizzy, the final drop of his lust sending you over as you sink under him, getting lost in him completely, the taste of your pleasure on his mouth.

You pull his shirt up his shoulders, getting it off him, the feeling of not having his warm, toned chest pressed up against you a crime. You toss it without a care, letting it fall to his bound fist as you pull down your dress, allowing your nipples to rub freely against him. He pounds into you with all the built-up, pent-up hate of all this time, his grunts matching his frustration. His silver chain dangles in your face while you dig your nails into his shoulders, wrapping your leg higher up his hip.

He teases you through stifled groans. “See? See what happens when you’re a good girl?”

You can only whimper in response, making him chuckle. He moves your hair out of your face, gripping a fistful at the top of your head, tugging at the roots. “Fucking princess,” he mumbles into you.

BONUS:

Hours earlier…

Meian sees you standing alone, your back to the entire party as you look out the window, admiring the evergreen forest’s beauty on display on this lovely winter night.

Here you are, in your hometown. Finally. It’s been almost ten years since high school. When he heard you’d booked the cabin in the woods, he couldn’t believe it. He had to know what brought you back. Was this temporary? Was this for good? Was this for him? It didn’t matter, he’d finally have the chance. To show you the man he’d become. He’d gotten the degree, he’d gotten the job, he’d changed everything. The clothes, the car, the lifestyle. All of it. For you.

He walks over to you, rubbing sweaty palms against his thighs before grabbing two champagne flutes off a waiter. His heart races the closer you get, seeing you in that red dress. Your legs...the way you fill up the skirt of your dress so nice...

He stops when he’s right behind you, leaning in. “Merry Christmas.”

His low, smooth voice meets your ears with ease. You look over your shoulder, taking a second before your beautiful eyes light up. You half sigh, half giggle, turning to face him.

You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off, establishing power when he points up at the mistletoe above you two. You catch it before you look at him again. He shakes his head, smiling softly. “Don’t try anything, I’m trying to stay on the Nice list.”

You giggle, your laughter filling his chest as you drop your head into one of your hands.

A man comes up to you both, getting your attention, but Meian barely pays him mind, too distracted by your red lipped smile and the front of your dress. Your nipples poke through the satin, big city girls like you prioritizing being half-naked distractions over your own comfort. He feels himself in his pants immediately, only to have the euphoric feeling of absolutely crushing his re-introduction to you stripped when the stranger puts his hand on your back.

“Oh, thank you,” you grab the flute the prick offers, pointing to Meian. “This is Meian…”

“Shuugo,” Meian says with a thin smile, quickly deciding he’s still not fully upset with you. How could he ever be upset with you?

“Right! I think we went to high school together, right? Meian, this is my fiancé.”

Meian’s cheeks deflate, his eyes losing the sparkle of excitement he’d gained by being in your presence. But you don’t notice. No one does. He looks at your fiancé. Looks down at him. He’s...utterly unremarkable, especially standing next to you. Not a single mark to define him as a man, he’s barely even able to match your height in your stilettos.

You deserve better, and you must know it too.